


dance with your soul

by my_little_prongsies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But mainly fluffy, Dancing with the stars - Freeform, Lots of dancing, M/M, Mild Angst, Multimedia, honestly this is entirely self-indulgent so its really cheesy, mentions of past suicide and alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-01-31 18:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18597352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_little_prongsies/pseuds/my_little_prongsies
Summary: It's Grantaire's third year as a dancer on Dancing With The Stars and he just wants to get through it and have fun with his friends, but when partnered with the celebrity, Enjolras, who's determined to win but also surprisingly nice and definitely Grantaire's type, he's in for an entirely new time.or Grantaire is tired, Enjolras is too touchy for his own good, and Courfeyrac falls in love too easily.





	1. Week 1

* * *

 

“I just wanna win this year,” Courfeyrac whined from his stretch position on the floor. Grantaire, who was standing behind him, doing a plie at the barre, grinned.

“Try harder then,” he replied, dodging the slap Courfeyrac sent his way. They were in the group studio, warming up, about to start choreographing their first group dance, along with the other dancers. Floreal, next to Grantaire, was stretching her legs, arms out in perfect ballet form to balance her. She huffed at Grantaire’s response.

“Easy for you to say, Mr ‘I came second last year, with a shit partner’,” she said.

“Hey, I still maintain that it was a fluke. I don’t know how we got that far.” Which was true. Despite the intense amount of training he put Louise through, she couldn’t seem to grasp how to dance properly. She made it purely on popularity. This year he hoped for a better partner, a girl who could actually move. But he doubted that, Valjean always wants to make his life hard.

Across the room, Éponine slipped through the door, her dark hair covering her face, and quickly made her way towards them. “They’re coming.”

“Who?” Courfeyrac asked.

“The celebrities. Valjean’s bringing them in now.” She dropped her bag against the wall, slipping on her dance shoes.

“But I thought we weren’t meant to meet them yet. Isn’t that tomorrow?” said Grantaire.

She shrugged. “Change of plans, apparently.”

“Oh, I’m excited!” Courfeyrac clapped his hands. “I heard a rumour that Cosette’s doing it this year. I wanna be partnered with her.”

“But I thought Marius was,” Floreal said. “They wouldn’t have both of them, would they? Not after that massive break-up last year.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Maybe we’re getting too boring and need some drama.”

Valjean entered the room then, followed by the ten celebrities, and Grantaire quickly surveyed them all, noticing that both Cosette and Marius were indeed there, awkwardly standing on opposite sides of the group. He also saw Bahorel, who he had met through Louise and become good friends with, and then, surprisingly, Enjolras. Valjean cleared his throat. “Hello everyone, sorry about the change of plans, but we’re introducing everyone right now. Tomorrow you will find out your partners. Please, everyone introduce themselves and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”

As the dancers and celebrities started towards each other, Grantaire leaned down to Courfeyrac. “I’m surprised Enjolras is here. Wouldn’t have thought it was his scene.”

Courfeyrac poked him. “You’re just jealous that you can’t dance with him.”

“Of course I am, have you seen him? He’s like a god.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, then stood up, surprised. “Hey, there’s more guys than girls! That’s new.”

“Huh, it is, I wonder why.” Grantaire walked over to where Bahorel was, chatting with another celebrity, Jehan, whose red hair was flowing around their shoulders. “Hey man, long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

“R!” Bahorel boomed, picking up Grantaire in a bear hug, swinging him around. “I’ve been good. I’ve missed you, dude. This is Jean Prouvaire, the singer extraordinaire.”

Jehan blushed, cheeks matching their hair. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” they said softly. “I remember you from last season—I loved your dancing.”

Grantaire grinned. “Thanks.” As Bahorel started talking again, Grantaire looked around, spotting Courfeyrac talking to Enjolras. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see everyone else. It’ll be good to see you around more often, ‘Rel. Nice to meet you, Jehan.”

“Oh, R! I solved our problem!” Courfeyrac exclaimed when he got close to them. “Enjolras here is dancing with a guy. Refused to do it otherwise. Claims it maintains sexist, traditional norms. Which, you know, isn’t completely wrong.”

Enjolras stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Enjolras. And you’re Grantaire.” His blonde hair flopped around his eyes.

“Uh, I am,” Grantaire replied awkwardly, shaking the offered hand. He wasn’t expecting to be known. After watching Enjolras on television from a young age, he was well acquainted with who he was. Had watched him grow from childhood. Had seen the tabloids when he came out as gay. Heard the news when his older brother committed suicide. Read the articles on his fracturing relationship with his parents. And obviously, saw the magazines and Instagram posts aiming to catch the impossible beauty that was Enjolras. Which, seeing him now, for the first time in person, it was clear that they were nothing close to the real-life version. Not the blue eyes, blonde flowy hair or sharp jaw. Not the way he held himself with ease, just taller than Grantaire himself. How he maintained eye-contact, not unsure or awkward, as others would be in a new environment. So, no, Grantaire was not expecting to be called by name.

Enjolras, having noticed his surprise, quickly continued. “I just re-watched last year’s season. Preparation for what is to come. You were amazing.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I, uh, enjoyed your last movie. You know, the one about WWII, with all the bombing and stuff. Great story. Which, of course, you already know, having been in it…” God, he needed to shut up. He turned to Courfeyrac, who looked as if he was enjoying himself immensely, and begged with his eyes to save him, but Courfeyrac just poked his tongue at him, the devil. “So, um, you’re dancing with a guy. That’s new.”

Enjolras perked up. “Well, I think it will be good for television to have two guys dancing together. And if I came first, that would be even better. But the likelihood of that is low.”

Courfeyrac finally spoke. “Oh, I’m sure you have a great **—** ” He stopped suddenly, staring at the person who had just walked through the door. He clutched Grantaire’s arm. “Who is that?” It came out as a strangled whisper.

“Oh, that’s Combeferre,” Enjolras said. “He’s my friend, I made him join the band, as the pianist. Ferre, over here!”

Courfeyrac squeezed Grantaire’s arm more. “Ow, Courf. Can you not?”

“But R, have you seen him? He’s so fucking hot.” Grantaire got a look at Combeferre and found that Courfeyrac was right. The dark skin, short hair and glasses were a look. Not Grantaire’s type, but definitely Courfeyrac’s. “Oh, I’m gonna die now.”

Grantaire laughed as Combeferre reached them and Enjolras introduced them. “Ferre, this is Courfeyrac and Grantaire, two of the dancers. And this is Combeferre.”

“So you’re a pianist? That’s so impressive,” Courfeyrac beamed.

“It’s nothing, really,” Combeferre said, smiling back.

“And I think that’s my que to leave,” Grantaire said, prying Courfeyrac’s hand off him. “As much as I would love to see how this plays out, I have other people to talk to. Have always wanted to meet Cosette. Have fun, Courf, and, uh, I guess I’ll see you around,” he nodded to Enjolras and Combeferre, ignoring Courfeyrac’s whine.

“It was nice to meet you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said.

“You, too.” Then Grantaire turned and walked away from them, needing as much space from Enjolras as quickly as possible. Spotting Éponine and another dancer, Bossuet, talking with Cosette, he headed in their direction. When he reached them, he whispered into Éponine’s ear, “How fucking perfect can one person be?”

Éponine chuckled darkly, turning away from the others, “I guess you met Enjolras then. Were his eyes even prettier in person?”

“Crystal clear blue. I am not going to survive this year.”

“At least you won’t be partnered with him.”

“Oh, but I might because he’s decided he has to dance with a guy.”

Éponine grinned up at him. “Good luck.”

“There’s only a 20% chance it will be me.”

“And knowing your odds, it _will_ be you.” She was right, as usual. Grantaire turned to Cosette and Bossuet, hoping to distract himself. As Cosette introduced herself, as though no one had any clue who she was, he turned back to where Enjolras stood, looking amusedly at Combeferre and Courfeyrac who were talking animatedly, completely ignoring him. He caught Grantaire’s eyes, smiled lightly, then interrupted something Combeferre said.

Oh, this season was going to be hard indeed.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Grantaire paced anxiously around his designated practice room, waiting for his partner to arrive. This was to be their introduction to their partner, when they finally find out who it was. Since yesterday, Grantaire had been dreading it, unsure if he wanted to spend nine weeks with Enjolras. On one hand, he did. He wanted to spend more time with him, get to be his friend and partner. But he also wasn’t sure if he would be able to survive nine weeks of one-on-one quality time together.

Feuilly sighed from his position against the mirror. “Can you please stop pacing? You’re making me dizzy.” He was the cameraman assigned to Grantaire and his partner and had been the previous two years that Grantaire had been on the show and, therefore, they had become good friends.

Grantaire slowed to a stop. “How long?”

“Should be here any minute. Now, you remember what to do?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wait patiently, look surprised, but happy, when they come in, then hug them. It’s not my first time, remember?”

Feuilly stood up, taking out his phone. “They’re coming now. Get ready. Stand there.” He pointed. “No, further left. Yep, that’s good.” He got the camera ready, aiming it for a shot of Grantaire, then from behind him, facing the door.

There was a knock at the door, before it swung open, revealing Enjolras on the other side, making his way in.

_Shit._

Grantaire quickly smiled, bringing his hands up to his face in surprise, walking towards Enjolras. “Hey, man, how are you?!” He pulled him into a hug, and nearly froze at the feel of Enjolras’ arms around him, before pulling back, hands on his shoulders.

Enjolras was grinning at him. “Pretty good. Excited to get started.” He turned to place his bag by the wall, and Grantaire took the chance to glance quickly at Feuilly, who was smirking at him and waving for him to continue. Grantaire glared at him.

“So, what’s our dance?”

“We’re starting with the Cha-cha-cha. Not the easiest, but we’ll make do.”

Enjolras nodded, already looking focused. Grantaire steeled himself for the day, the weeks, ahead of him.

 

Four hours later, and they were making head-way. Enjolras, while trying his absolute best, was struggling with his hips. Grantaire was tired and sweaty, but ultimately enjoying himself. He always loved coming back from breaks from dancing, and Enjolras, despite his hips, was a fast learner.

“Remember, separate your torso, straight legs,” Grantaire said, while lightly holding Enjolras’ hips.

“I know,” he got in reply, but Enjolras looked exhausted so Grantaire called for a break.

“We’ll come back to it soon. We can do our interviews now. Sound good, Feuilly?” He walked to his bag, dragging a towel over his face and shaking his head like a dog. God, he was tired. He would have to start back up on his full-time work-out sessions, otherwise he won’t survive. He saw Enjolras slump down by his own bag, chugging his water. His hair was pulled back in a hair tie, the front slipping out, fanning his red face. Grantaire’s own curls were just as messy, a crazy halo surrounding his head. He combed through them, before making his was towards where Feuilly was preparing for their interviews.

 

* * *

 

Video: [Enjolras and Grantaire are in the studio, two hours in, going through their Cha-cha-cha. There are multiple shots of different days throughout the week of them practising.

Cut to Enjolras standing in the middle of the room, addressing the camera.]

E: Oh, I don’t know how I’m feeling. I’ve only ever danced for a movie I was in when I was 15, and even then, the rehearsals didn’t cover much. I’m really excited though, I always like challenging myself. And this is definitely a challenge. Our first dance is the Cha-cha-cha, which, according to Grantaire, is one of the harder ones, so we’ll see how I go.

[Cut to Grantaire in a different spot]

G: He’s looking really promising so far. The Cha-cha-cha isn’t easy to start with, but he’s doing well.  Just have to make sure his hip action improves. I also rarely work with a man as a partner, so it takes some getting used to, especially seeming he’s about my height, rather than my usual short partners. But I think we’ll work well.

[He looks behind the camera, smiling.] The video finishes.

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac grinned at Grantaire from across the table, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. “I am so pumped. I’m with Cosette for Christ’s sake. I actually have a chance of winning this year.”

“Lucky,” said Bossuet in despair, from beside Grantaire. “I’m not sure how Claire’s going to go. Has no rhythm so far.”

They’re at the coffeeshop near the studio, named the Musain, along with Éponine and Floreal, catching up on much needed caffeine before the airing of the first episode that night. Grantaire was exhausted. He had been working non stop for the past week with Enjolras on their dance, and while he was happy with it, it had been hard work.

“How do you think you’re going to go, R?” Éponine arrived with her latte, sliding into the spot next to Courfeyrac, Floreal on her other side. “You guys were looking pretty good during rehearsal. Although Enjolras needs to straighten his legs, otherwise he’ll get nowhere.”

“Trust me, I’ve told him that plenty of times. I even suggested making it his text tone, but for some reason he didn’t take to that.” He sat up straight, crossing his arms. “But I think we’ll do alright. At least he already has the acting behind him and some grace about him.”

Courfeyrac leaned forwards, a smirk growing across his face. “How _are_ rehearsals going?”

It was common knowledge that Grantaire had always had a thing for Enjolras, from when they were children and he appeared in his first movie, and Courfeyrac took great delight in making Grantaire squirm over said crush. Grantaire pointedly ignored his insinuation. “They are going fine actually. Surprisingly, we’re getting along.”

The door behind Grantaire opened and Courfeyrac shot up, with a little “eek!”. Grantaire swivelled around to see Enjolras enter with Combeferre. He smirked back at Courfeyrac, who had gone red at the sight of Combeferre. “Shall we invite them over?”

“No! I’m still sweaty and gross from rehearsal, he can’t see me like this.” Courfeyrac glared at him.

Éponine chuckled while waving her hand at Enjolras and Combeferre, who walked towards them after ordering their coffee,

“Is this seat taken?” Combeferre asked, motioning to the seat next to Courfeyrac, who squeaked out a response, as Enjolras sat into the chair beside Grantaire. “I saw your rehearsal today _—_ you were very good. I loved the song choice. It’s one of my favourites to play,” he said to Courfeyrac.

“Oh, uh, thanks! I love that song to. The absolute perfect Viennese Waltz.”

Grantaire was pulled from watching Courfeyrac go redder and redder by a hand on his elbow. He turned towards Enjolras, who was offering him a smile.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

“I’m not that one whose dancing on national television for the first time. Are _you_ ready?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I guess. I’m used to embarrassing myself on T.V., nothing unusual. Not much I can do now that will change people’s perception of me. Not that should it matter in any way.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“I do always try to look for the positive side of things,” Enjolras said simply.

“Well, I think we are ready. You’ve already improved so much just this week. Although, when there’s not much to start with, any improvement is easy.” He smirked as Enjolras punched his arm, huffing. “Hey! Don’t hurt me, you need me to be in my best form for tonight.”

“I’m sure I was much better than some of the other celebrities.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s cocky.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Please, I’ve known Marius for years. He can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his feet.”

Combeferre interrupted them, nodding and Grantaire realised the rest of the table had gone silent. “It’s true. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken more bones.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Grantaire said, elbowing Bossuet in the ribs, who glared back at him.

Before Bossuet could respond, Floreal called from down the table “We better get moving, they wanted us back in about 10 minutes for hair and make-up. I also wanted to run through the group dance again, I couldn’t quite get the ending earlier. That pose is a bugger.”

As Grantaire made his way out of the shop, leaving Enjolras and Combeferre behind to finish their coffees, Éponine caught up to him.

“Well, you guys are certainly looking chummy,” she said with a sly grin.

“Oh, shut up.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras and Grantaire stood in front of the camera, in the sky box, awaiting their scores. They had danced almost perfectly, with only one slip up and comments from the judges for Enjolras to straighten his knees more, which had prompted Grantaire to cheekily elbow him in the side. Now, the compare, Myriel, talked to them excitedly.

“Wow, that was absolutely amazing! Obviously, we’ve heard from the judges, but how do guys think you went?”

Enjolras slung his arm over Grantaire’s shoulders. “I mean, for our first dance, I think we did quite well. I know where I need to improve, but I’m really happy. All thanks to Grantaire, here.” He squeezed his shoulders.

“Well, now its time for the scores. Javert!”

“6.”

“Fantine!”

“7.”

“And finally, Lamarque!”

“7.”

“Congratulations! That’s a total of 20 points out of 30, second on the leader board so far, behind Cosette and Courfeyrac’s 22. We’ll be back straight after this ad to see Bahorel and Floreal’s first dance!”

The camera zooms out from Enjolras and Grantaire grinning at each other to a full shot of the studio, all cheering.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire cheered along with everyone else after the closing of the show. Courfeyrac, right in his ear, shouted.

“Woohoo! End of the first episode! And I came first!” A pointed cough came from Cosette, who was standing next to Éponine. “We came first. Go Cosette. You’re gonna get me to the finale!”

Cosette laughed. “I think you’ll have to help with that, too.”

Grantaire grinned. He was ecstatic. It was only the first show, and they were already proving to be one of the best, having come second to Cosette, by only one point. And, of course, Courfeyrac’s smile was always contagious. He was about to congratulate Madeline on her performance with Jehan when Enjolras came up from behind him, turning him around and catching him in a hug.

“Thanks,” he said when they parted, keeping close to Grantaire. “I wasn’t sure how this whole this was going to go. Quite nervous, actually, to join the show. But you’ve really helped. So, thank-you. I’m glad you’re going to be my partner for, hopefully, the next nine weeks.” With that, he continued on, moving over to Marius and Bahorel, who were discussing Marius’ comments from the judges. Grantaire’s gaze followed him, shocked. He turned to Courfeyrac, who just grinned at him and said “Oh, you are so fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (if anyone has any good ideas for a title, please let me know, cause i really don't like it but can't think of anything other than Dancing With The Stars, which is boring)


	2. Week 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dance partners:  
> Enjolras and Grantaire  
> Cosette and Courfeyrac  
> Marius and Éponine  
> Bahorel and Floreal  
> Jehan and Madeline  
> Claire and Bossuet

 

* * *

 

Grantaire was just in the middle of going through the Rumba steps for Enjolras, Feuilly slowly circulating them with the camera, when Joly burst into the practice room.

“I heard you were hurt. What is it? Where? When did it happen? Are you okay?”

“Joly, Joly, relax, I’m fine,” Grantaire said. “Just a sore ankle, figured I should get a brace for it, but didn’t have enough time.”

Joly pushed him into a chair by the door and started fussing over him. “You always have enough time to look after yourself. When did you hurt it?”

“About two hours ago. Honestly, I’m _fine_.”

“Liar,” Enjolras said from where he had collapsed onto the floor, spread out like a starfish. “You can barely work, let alone dance. You’ve been hobbling around like a goblin.”

“Gee thanks, stunning description.”

Enjolras grinned. “Only telling the truth.”

Joly finished his assessment and started wrapping a bandage around Grantaire’s ankle. “There, it should be good now, but no dancing for at least the rest of the day.” He pointed a finger in his face. “I would recommend two days off, but knowing you, you won’t listen.”

“Hey, can you go get me Bossuet and Claire? We’re doing a partner dance with them, so may as well work on it, seeming I can’t teach Enjolras anything useful like this, _and_ I know you love any excuse to see him.”

Joly blushed, but nodded. “Of course. Look after that ankle, preferably stay down for an hour or two, then only walking. _Only_. I’ll come check on it tomorrow morning.” With that, he left the room.

“I thought Bossuet and Musichetta were dating?” Enjolras asked.

“They are, but so are Joly and Bossuet, and Joly and Musichetta. All of them, together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, let’s continue, while we wait for them.”

Enjolras jumped up. “No, no, no you can’t get up.”

“Then I’ll count from here. Ready, Feuilly?” He motioned to Feuilly, who had started going through footage when Joly arrived. At his affirmative nod, Enjolras started the music again, returning to his starting position. “Now, remember the box figure. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Repeat. Tall back, head up. Good!”

Enjolras smiled at him, and Grantaire felt himself grin back, unable to help himself. He really was enjoying himself—Enjolras was turning out to be nicer than expected and easy to get along with. He was also a quick learner, able to understand the principles of each dance style effectively and do them well.

The door beside Grantaire opened. “R! Jolyyyyy said you require my assistance!” Bossuet sang, skipping in, Claire laughing as she trailed behind. “Oh, what happened?” he asked, noticing Grantaire’s bandaged ankle.

“Nothing, just a small fall. I’ve been put on bedrest, so thought we could go through our duo dance.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The rest of the afternoon continued with Bossuet choreography and teaching the dance to Enjolras and Claire, with Grantaire’s assistance from the chair. Enjolras kept on catching Grantaire’s eye, and Grantaire had a smile on his face the whole time, watching Enjolras’ blonde hair shine in the sun streaming through the windows. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Courf,” Grantaire said, as Courfeyrac sighed for the fifth time in as many minutes, seated next to Grantaire. “Just go and talk to him. Look, he’s not talking to anyone right now. Free as a bird.”

They were at the dress rehearsal, waiting for their dances to come up. Valjean was currently on the floor, taking Bahorel and Jehan through their duo dance, figuring out where the cameras would be positioned. Courfeyrac had spent the last 5 minutes in despair, as he could see Combeferre practising his music across the floor. Enjolras sat next to him, typing hurriedly on his phone.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, pouting. “I can’t just go over there. Then I would be obvious. Jeez, R, you have no tact at all.”

“I have tact, thank-you very much,” Grantaire said, affronted. Courfeyrac just continued to pout. “Oh, come on.” Grantaire stood up, dragging a squealing Courfeyrac along behind him, and walked over to Combeferre and Enjolras, waving at Bahorel as they passed, who stuck out his tongue in response.

Combeferre looked up as they reached them, eyes locking on to Courfeyrac. Brightly, he said, “Hello.”

Enjolras continued to type into his phone, oblivious to their arrival. Having grabbed two chairs from nearby, Grantaire forced Courfeyrac into the one near Combeferre, and placed the other next to Enjolras, sitting down.

“Is there a particular reason you were squealing across the floor?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac crossed his arms. “R was being a butthead.”

Grantaire snorted as Combeferre responded, “A ‘butthead’? How so?”

Grantaire thought Courfeyrac’s discomfort at having to answer this was apt punishment, and grinned cheekily at Courfeyrac, who was bright red. “Well, um, he was just rude. Forcing me to do things that I do not want to do,” he replied, kicking Grantaire’s shin in the process.

Grantaire’s yelp finally got Enjolras’ attention, who quickly looked up, at first surprised to see Grantaire and Courfeyrac there, then concerned, laying a hand on Grantaire’s arm.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Enjolras, really.” As Courfeyrac and Combeferre continued their conversation, Grantaire turned towards Enjolras. “So what’s got you so invested in your phone?”

Enjolras’ eyebrows furrowed, covering his blue eyes. “This guy on Instagram was badmouthing me about having another guy as a partner. I decided to enlighten him on his ignorance and show him why it is a good thing we’re partnered.”

“You know that’s not gonna work, right?”

“Why?” Enjolras looked annoyed. “Obviously, I know that telling one guy off isn’t going to change the systematic heteronormative ideals of our society, but educating people, opening them to change, can really have an effect, however small. I can teach this guy about how prevalent the LGBTQI+ community actually is. Show him that his comments hurt people. That I need to do everything I am able to do just to help them.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Yeah, sure, educating people would make a difference, but not people like him. Who live their days as trolls on the internet and find amusement from being absolute dicks. He won’t listen to you. He’ll either ignore your response or respond with a comment calling you names. He’s not the solution.”

“But we can’t just leave this comment alone!” Enjolras argued. “He’ll just think he’s won.”

Grantaire put his hand on Enjolras’ knee, leaning in close, so as to keep their conversation private. “No he won’t, he’ll think he’s won if you respond—if you give him more ammunition. Just leave it, find another way to speak out. But not through the comments sections of Instagram. Trust me, that achieves nothings. I’ve received my fair share of hate on the internet, and retaliating is not the way to go.”

Enjolras looked shocked. “Why would you have received some?”

“Apparently people are fond of my partner last year, Louise, and think I did her a disservice by not coming first,” Grantaire shrugged.

Enjolras’ hand found Grantaire’s, still on his knee. Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat as Enjolras’ eyes searched his own.

“But that’s ridiculous! She was a horrible dancer, and definitely didn’t deserve to even get to the finale.”

“Trust me I know,” Grantaire chuckled, removing his hand from Enjolras and leaning back before he internally combusted. “That’s my whole point. People on the internet are just fucking dicks for no reason. I do have an idea, though, on how to help.”

 

* * *

 

Video: [Enjolras and Grantaire stand next to each other, in one of the make-up rooms, facing the camera. Enjolras darts a look at Grantaire, who nods.]

E: After the opening last week, I have received some backlash on the internet from me dancing with a guy. While this is saddening, it isn’t surprising, which I think is worse. The LGBTQI+ is growing with every day, and this kind of hate, this oppression, should not be accepted by any one. So I am going to ignore those comments and keep on dancing to show our country that two male partners is normal. I am going to dance my [beep] off every week and am not going to let any one put me down.

[Enjolras took a deep breath.]

E: Of you guys, the viewers, I ask that you call out any abuse you see. Even if you agree with the ideals of the comment, call it out. It is not okay to abuse people, physically or verbally. Online harassment can be just as damaging physical, and it needs to stop. Tell these people that it is not okay. That you do not accept it, and neither will everyone else. Thank-you.

[Enjolras smiles triumphantly, while Grantaire puts his arm around his shoulders.] The video finishes.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire’s leg swung off the bench as he watched Musichetta fuss over Cosette and Courfeyrac’s hair and make-up. It was an hour before the show was set to begin, and Grantaire, having been put on rest by Joly to help his ankle, had found himself in the make-up room to deal with his anxiousness. Courfeyrac caught his eye, brown eyes narrowing as he took in Grantaire’s tense body.

“What is it?”

“I did a thing.” Grantaire bit his lip. “It’s not, like, a bad thing. I don’t think. But Enjolras was so annoyed about these trolls online and I just thought of this idea and I think it will be good. But what if it backfires? What if nothing even happens because of it? People just ignore it. It could ruin our chances of even coming close to winning.”

“Is this about that interview you did earlier?” Cosette asked.

Grantaire cocked his head, legs stopping. “Yeah. How did you hear about that? We only did it, like, two hours ago.”

“Enjolras and I are close friends,” she smiled. “He’s also very excited about it. Has been telling everyone about it. I think it’s a good idea.”

Musichetta nodded as she fixed a lock of Cosette’s blonde hair into her bun. “Yeah, Bossuet and Joly told me about it earlier. Heard it from Marius, I think.”

Courfeyrac tapped Grantaire’s leg. “And even if it does backfire, which it isn’t likely too,” he amended at Grantaire’s panicked look, “at least you tried to do something. The number of trolls on the internet is deplorable and you’ve actually _said something about it_.”

“Well, Enjolras did the speaking, so,” Grantaire trailed off.

“But it was your idea,” Musichetta said, turning away from Cosette to face Grantaire, pulling him into a hug, which he eagerly returned, knowing full well that Musichetta gave the best hugs out of everyone in the world. “We’ve all received hate on the internet. Hell, even I have, despite never having been on television. What you did is so important and I’m proud of you. I can say the same for my boys, too.” Grantaire sagged into her embrace, tucking his head into her neck.

“And of course, you’ve got us behind you too,” Courfeyrac chimed in. “Éponine, Floreal. All of the dancers.”

Cosette grinned. “And the celebrities.”

Grantaire released Musichetta, pushing her back towards Cosette, to finish her hair. He smiled at the ground. He really did have the greatest friends.

There was a cough from the door. Enjolras was standing there, staring at Grantaire.

“It really was a great idea,” he said, coming to stand in front of Grantaire, lifting Grantaire’s head with a finger, before dropping his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Courfeyrac and Cosette smirk at each other. “And who the fuck cares if it doesn’t work. Screw the world.”

Cosette laughed. “Never thought I would hear the day you said that.”

Enjolras just glared at her before turning back to the door, motioning for Grantaire to follow. “Valjean wanted us to quickly go through our Rumba again, before the audience arrives. Something about that starting position not looking fancy enough.”

Grantaire jumped down from the bench, making sure to land on his good ankle, and followed Enjolras into the corridor, hitting Courfeyrac on the back of his head on the way out, who was sniggering.

“Are you sure you’re alright to dance tonight?” Enjolras asked, worriedly, glancing down at his ankle. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself more.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I’m fine. And what would you do if I didn’t dance? Forfeit?”

Enjolras’ eyes widened. “… I don’t know.”

“Exactly. I’m fine and we’ll be great. Just remember-”

“Keep my legs straight, I know.”

Grantaire grinned as he followed Enjolras down the hall, feeling much more at ease now.

 

* * *

 

“Such. A. Beautiful. Dance!” Myriel exclaimed when Enjolras and Grantaire made it up to the skybox, positioning themselves in front of the camera, after their dance. “And I loved the message. So powerful.” He stuck his microphone out towards Enjolras.

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of what we’ve done. All thanks to Grantaire, as usual. And I really hope people listen to my plea. We need to hold bullies accountable on the internet, and if we all do it, it will make a difference.” He grinned at the camera, hair flopping loosely around his face, cheeks red from exhaustion and eyes bright with excitement. Grantaire thought he looked angelic.

“Well, congratulations again! What a wonderful performance. Now its time for the judges scores!”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras and Grantaire stood next to each other, on stage, in their designated spot for the first elimination, a spotlight shining into their eyes. Enjolras curled his arm around Grantaire’s, moving closer and closer as Myriel called out the safe couples. Grantaire could barely concentrate, anxiously waiting for their names to be said. Distantly, he saw Courfeyrac jump up and down excitedly besides Cosette, saw both Jehan and Bossuet hug their partners, while Bahorel swung Floreal around. So they were safe.

“And the final couple not in the bottom three… Enjolras and Grantaire!”

Grantaire felt Enjolras start, grabbing him in a hug, and saw Courfeyrac come bounding up to them, grinning wildly. The other safe couples all surrounded them, taking them offstage at Myriel’s instructions.

“We did it. We’re safe,” Enjolras whispered into Grantaire’s ear, and he could feel his smile in the words. Grantaire beamed at him.

“We did.”

 

* * *

 

“It worked,” Enjolras said, plopping down against the wall next to Grantaire. “Or, well, it’s working. People are responding to our interview. I have so many messages of thanks.”

All of the dancers and celebrities had gathered after the show, along with some of the crew, sharing some drinks. Grantaire, having stopped drinking alcohol two years previously after a particularly bad episode and an intervention led by Éponine, Courfeyrac and Floreal, had been keeping mostly to himself until then, enjoying the spectacle of a drunk Marius and Éponine try to perform their dance. He turned his head towards Enjolras, his dark curls falling over his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” Enjolras nodded excitedly. “People took to it so well, and sure, it may not actually stick, but it’s still out there. They’re sharing it on twitter and Facebook.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Grantaire said.

“Thanks, Taire.” Grantaire flushed at the nickname. “I would’ve just spent an eternity on that one guy, never getting through to him.”

“No worries,” he said cheekily. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Enjolras huffed, and settled properly beside him, eyes on where Courfeyrac and Combeferre were talking in the corner of the room, heads bowed towards each other. The two had spent majority of the night talking, their drinks half forgotten.

Enjolras nodded towards them. “I can trust Courfeyrac, right? Ferre’s been my closest friend since I was four and he hasn’t had the greatest luck with romantic relationships. I don’t want him to get hurt anymore.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire replied. “Courf’s been one of _my_ best friends from a young age, as well. Has been there for me for everything I’ve gone through. The most loyal person I know. And, telling you this in complete confidence,” he winked at Enjolras, “I can assure you he is quite smitten with Combeferre. All I’ve heard him talk about for the last two weeks.”

“Oh thank God, you’ve been going through that too.” Enjolras laughed. “I’m sure Courfeyrac is a lovely guy but having to hear about him constantly is getting quite repetitive.”

“And I can trust Combeferre?”

“I’m pretty sure Ferre is incapable of hurting a fly, so yeah, you can trust him.”

Éponine appeared out of the crowd then, holding out a cup of water for Grantaire, while simultaneously pulling him up, ordering him to dance. Grantaire pointedly ignored Enjolras’ questioning gaze at the choice of beverage, sending him a smile before being pulled into the dancing group. He relaxed, allowing the calm, happy atmosphere to wash over him, half closing his eyes as he turned Floreal around. Tomorrow, the week would start again. Rehearsals, choregraphing, training, all day spent with Enjolras, the pleasure and pain that it brought, but right now, he let everything go and danced with his friends.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading!


	3. Week 3

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Grantaire stretched out his legs on the dance floor, positioning himself in front of the mirror so he could assess his stretch. Feuilly sat propped against the mirror, fiddling with his camera.

As Grantaire reached out to his toes, Feuilly asked, “So how do think things are going with Enjolras?”

Grantaire grimaced, eyes flicking towards Feuilly. “He’s just so fucking nice. And pretty. And determined. Honestly, it’s too much sometimes.” Grantaire was pretty sure he was in love with him but didn’t have the courage to say that out loud, although Feuilly had probably guessed by now, having watched them for the past two weeks.

Feuilly laughed, smirking, “He seems pretty fond of you, too.”

“Don’t know why he would be.” Grantaire immediately regretted saying that and could feel the punch Éponine would have given him if she were here. “I mean _—_ he’s just so different to me. Basically my opposite in every way. I can hardly believe we haven’t fought yet.”

“I can see why you get along. I’ve worked with him before, and he always enjoys a challenge. Something that isn’t easy. You ensure the dances are hard, constantly pushing him. He respects that, and therefore, you.”

Grantaire heard a pop from the camera and a curse from Feuilly. He looked up.

“Damn, I’m gonna have to go fix this. Might take a while. Just start when Enjolras gets here, and I’ll get footage later.” With that, Feuilly leapt up and headed for the door, opening it to find Enjolras, waving at him, then leaving.

Enjolras walked in. “Where’s he going?”

“Something with the camera. He’ll back eventually. Come. Sit down here.”

Enjolras sat down, back against the mirror, legs crossed. “Shouldn’t we be dancing?”

“And we are going to, but first we need to talk.” Grantaire sat up properly, moving to be in front of Enjolras. “This week we have contemporay. And, well, our one requirement is for the dance to represent a significant memory.”

Enjolras looked down, tensing up and Grantaire knew what he was thinking about. They hadn’t discussed it, but the whole country knew about his brother’s suicide. He put his hand on Enjolras’ knee, leaning forward. “I know this will be hard. I don’t really wan to put you through this, but I think it will be worth it.” He trailed off, allowing Enjolras the chance to respond.

After a few moments, Enjolras lifted his head. “My charity is about suicide prevention, you know.” Grantaire nodded. “The only reason I accepted doing this show was so I had an opportunity to raise awareness. But I’ve barely ever talked to anyone about this. Not even Ferre. I don’t know if I can.” Enjolras shuddered. “And I want to. So bad. But I just _—_ can’t. I don’t know.”

 “How about we go and get some coffee? Just relax for a bit while you think about it. But no pressure, if you don’t want to then we won’t, but I think this dance would be a great opportunity. Trust me, dancing helps. I’ve used it my whole life to deal with things.” Grantaire stood up, grabbing Enjolras’ hand to pull him up.

 

They sat down at a table by the window, coffees in front of them. Enjolras stared out the window, looking at the studio across the street. Grantaire leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Enjolras,” he started. “Talking helps. I’m sure everyone’s told you that and I know it’s incredibly hard to open up, but it’s honestly the only reason I’m here today. Because I talked to my friends, didn’t let is fester inside me until there was no return.”

Enjolras looked at him, concern etched across his face.

“And yes,” Grantaire continued. “it will be tough, but I know you can do it. You just gotta find the courage to do so.”

Enjolras signed, turning his body to be face on with Grantaire’s, taking a moment before talking. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“Tell me about him. How was he growing up?”

Enjolras closed his eyes briefly. “He was just like any older brother. Annoying, kind of a dick sometimes, but also my friend. We were close _—_ it was always us against our parents.” He laughed quietly. “I remember the rows he used to get into with them. He didn’t think I should be in movies because he knew the toll it took. How it changed a kid’s life, and not in a good way. He used to shout and shout at them, but they never listened to him. To either of us.”

Enjolras took a deep breath and Grantaire reached out, taking his hand. He felt Enjolras squeeze it.

“And we got into our fair share of arguments, too, as all siblings do. But he was always the person I loved the most. He still is. And I miss him, so much. I just don’t know how to feel about it. It was only two years ago and yet my parents have basically moved on. They pretend he didn’t exist, don’t talk about him with anyone, let alone each other, ignore every trace of him in the house.” He paused. “I just wonder what I could’ve done differently. Forced him to talk more, showed him that I was there. We all knew he wasn’t well, but figured it wasn’t our place.” He looked at Grantaire. “Taire, I could have helped him, but I didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” Grantaire said, sternly. “It’s horrible what happened, but don’t ever blame yourself.”

“But _—_ ”

“No, you’ll get nowhere if you do. Now, tell me about a memory with him. Something happy, peaceful.” Grantaire let go of his hand, grabbing his coffee to take a sip.

Enjolras cleared his throat, looking away, and Grantaire could see the tears in his blue eyes. “He used to take me to the park, when were little. Before all the fighting, before all our time was spent on movies sets. My parents would spend their weekends with guests over, so we would sneak out. I remember he used to push me really high on the swings and I felt like it was flying. It was the only time we were free.” He smiled slightly.

“I think I can work with that.”

“Thank-you Grantaire. I needed this.” Enjolras looked down to the table, then back to Grantaire.

Grantaire held out his cup. “To Gabriel.”

Enjolras tapped his own cup against Grantaire’s. “To my brother.”

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Grantaire felt a tap on his shoulder, pulling him out from his conversation with Courfeyrac. He turned his head to see Floreal drop down beside him.

“I think Éponine is in love,” she said, without preamble. Courfeyrac’s face lit up, as he leaned around Grantaire.

“Ooh, is it Marius? Wouldn’t it be so cute if they got together? Although, I’m not really sure Éponine is Marius’ type.”

Floreal shook her head. “Nope.” She pointed to the other side of the stage, where Éponine was fixing Cosette’s positioning. It was the day before the show was to go live and everyone was gathered around, waiting for Valjean to speak, before the dress rehearsal began.

Grantaire covered his ear, anticipating Courfeyrac’s squeal.

“That’s even cuter! Oh my God, I am so going to talk to Cosette about this. Oh, that would be gooood. They definitely suit each other.”

Grantaire laughed at Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm, before addressing Floreal. “And why do we believe she’s in love?”

Floreal looked smug. “Well, I mentioned Cosette earlier and Éponine went very quiet, and we all know she doesn’t keep quiet about her opinions. That was my first clue. My second, if you look close enough, you can see the blush from here.” She nodded towards the two, where Grantaire could, in fact, see a faint redness permeate her light brown skin, as Éponine hid her smile behind her long hair.

Grantaire grinned. “She is gone. I’ve never seen her like someone in the twelve years I’ve known her. This is awesome.”

They continued to survey Cosette and Éponine, until the latter caught them staring and gave them the rude finger from across with floor, while glaring, causing Grantaire to bark a laugh.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire ran up behind Éponine, slowing to walk beside her as she made her way to the make-up room.

“And you think Enjolras and I look chummy.”

Éponine looked at him through the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re implying. But I stand by my word. You guys are very touchy-feely.” She faked shuddering, smirking at him.

Grantaire flushed. “I’m sure he’s like that with everyone.”

“Not according to Combeferre. He says Enjolras usually hates being in contact with people.”

Grantaire stopped, staring at the back of Éponine’s head. “What?”

Éponine just laughed.

“Wait, no, that’s not the topic of this conversation.” Grantaire shook his head, holding on to that thought for later and catching up to her again.

“I think it is.”

“No, no, _I_ was talking about you and Cosette.”

“What about us?” Her skin darkened as she stared resolutely ahead.

“Well, you guys were looking pretty friendly yesterday. I didn’t even know you had become friends.”

“Only because you’ve been caught up in everything that is Enjolras.” Grantaire resented that but said nothing. “I guess we’ve just somehow started talking to each other, and, well, she’s quite nice.”

“You’re smitten,” Grantaire said, grinning.

“If you expect me to talk about this, you have to give stuff up, too. This is a two-way street,” she said, as she reached the make-up room, opening the door. She paused when she saw who was inside. Grantaire peered over her shoulder, seeing Musichetta doing Enjolras’ hair, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac sitting on chairs behind him, Courfeyrac’s hair and make-up already finished.

“R!” Courfeyrac said, motioning for them to come in. “We were just talking about you.”

“What I always love to hear,” Grantaire grimaced. “What about me?” Éponine continued down to another stylist, shooting Grantaire a look that said they would be coming back to their conversation.

“About our dance,” Enjolras said, looking at Grantaire through the mirror in front of him. “I was just telling them how it’s going to look. It really will be beautiful.”

Grantaire noticed Combeferre’s eyes were trained on Enjolras, assessing him. Grantaire could tell he was worried about how Enjolras was taking everything. He was, too. Enjolras seem relaxed at the moment, but Grantaire had seen his fists tighten and eyes close, as though to stop crying, throughout the week. He had seen him take shaky breaths as they danced, had watched the interview they did when Enjolras had had to take a moment to collect himself. So, yes, he was worried for Enjolras, but Grantaire could tell that there was no stopping him now.

He was also aware of just how touchy Enjolras had become over the last week, ever since they had that coffee. He could feel the imprint of Enjolras’ fingers on his shoulders, back, arms, hands, even his neck, from where he had touched him. Feel a shadow of his breath as he leaned in to whisper in his ear when on their lunch break with everyone else, so only Grantaire could hear. It was absolute torture, but Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to pull away from any of it.

“Are you feeling ready for it?” he asked, jumping up to sit on the bench, his back to the mirror.

Enjolras smiled tightly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll be fine,” Combeferre said. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said. “And don’t think about anything when you’re on stage. Just listen to the music, stare into Grantaire’s beautiful eyes. You’ll forget everything.” He grinned over at Grantaire, who glared back at him, but at least Enjolras was laughing.

Musichetta patted Enjolras on the shoulder, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “There, all done. Grantaire, you’re turn.” She pushed Enjolras out of the chair, Grantaire taking his place.

“I’ll see you soon, Taire,” Enjolras said as he left the room, Combeferre and Courfeyrac following him, Courfeyrac waving at him.

Grantaire sighed as Musichetta attacked his curls. She poked his head with her comb.

“Ow! What was that for?” he asked, offended.

“Cheer up. Your life isn’t that bad. You get to spend everyday the most beautiful person in the world.”

“That’s the whole problem. He is _so_ gorgeous. Like a walking Apollo. Although, without the whole being a dickhead of a god. I can’t find one fault in him, Chetta. Not one,” he said, turning his head beseechingly towards her. She tutted before forcibly moving him back, to continue styling his hair. “Okay, maybe he’s a bit too optimistic on the whole changing the world thing, but that’s not a _fault._ It’s almost the most perfect thing about him. Despite what he’s been through, what the world has done to him, he still believes in it. Oh God, Chetta, it’s so hard. What am I going to do?”

“Well, you are going to dance your ass off tonight with him and are going to win this competition. You’ll continue to see him every week and get closer. You don’t have to worry—he likes you, R, and from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t take easily to new people.”

“Shouldn’t you be hoping for Bossuet to win?” Grantaire asked, pointedly ignoring her last comment.

She shrugged, moving on to his make-up and giving him a look that said she saw straight through him. “I would love for Bossuet to win, but Claire is hopeless. Unfortunately, I don’t think he will make it much further.”

They continued to talk until Musichetta patted him on the cheek and ushered him out the door, declaring that he needs to go to wardrobe before he runs out of time. Grantaire thanked her, smiling, and headed down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Video: [Scenes of Grantaire taking Enjolras through their dance. Then Enjolras and Grantaire standing in front of the camera.’]

G: This week we have contemporary and our one instruction is for our dance to be based around a memory.

E: I have a chosen a particular memory from childhood to dance to. One of me and my brother. I’m nervous to share this with everyone, as it is very personal, but I know Grantaire here can do it justice.

[Scenes of them dancing together. Then Enjolras on his own in front of the camera, on a different day.]

E: I haven’t really opened up to anyone about my brother, so I’m taking this opportunity to start. I hope you enjoy this dance because it has been amazing dancing it. Thank-you. [He takes a moment, breathing deeply.] Please, talk to your family, before you lose them.

[He nods to the camera.] Video ends.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire paced the backstage waiting room. Courfeyrac and Cosette were on stage, and he could hear the faint sounds of the judges praising their dance. He and Enjolras were next, and Grantaire was shitting himself, but was trying to keep his anxiousness contained, aware of Enjolras next to him, who was bouncing on his toes.

“You guys look absolutely gorgeous in those suits.” Jehan appeared on Enjolras’ other side. They had been outfitted in similar dark blue suits and Grantaire had been struggling to take his eyes of Enjolras all afternoon. Jehan grabbed Enjolras’ hand, saying “You okay?”

Enjolras shot a glance at Grantaire, who smiled weakly back. “Yeah,” he said softly, and Jehan lifted their hands to his cheeks, resting their foreheads together.

“You are going to kill it out there, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” they said, pulling back. “You too, Grantaire. I can see those nerves—you have nothing to worry about.”

Enjolras’ head shot towards Grantaire’s. “What? Why are you worried?” he asked, concerned.

“Just want to do this right, I guess. Don’t wanna muck it up for you.” Because that’s what Grantaire was most worried about. This was so important for Enjolras and if he ruined it in any way, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

“You’re hardly going to be the reason something goes wrong, you’re the professional!” Enjolras said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, everyone makes mistakes. Me, especially.” Enjolras looked at him strangely and Grantaire quickly continued. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ll be fine. We know this dance back-to-front, and everyone will love it.”

Jehan nodded. “Exactly. Now, go out there and kick some ass, lovelies!” They pushed Enjolras forward, as one of the crewmen ushered them towards the stage. Enjolras took hold of Grantaire’s hand, squeezing to reassure them both. Grantaire led them out to the white swing that was hanging from the ceiling, twirling Enjolras down to sit on it. Grantaire distantly heard Myriel introduce their names, and took his position behind Enjolras, hands resting on his shoulders. He squeezed them once as the music began and they started dancing.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire’s chest heaved as pulled Enjolras up from their closing position, exactly the same as their starting one, pulling him into a hug. He beamed into Enjolras’ neck and could feel Enjolras’ own smile against his ear. They parted, walking over to where Myriel stood.

“That was just fantastic, so many emotions. Enjolras, you were quite nervous to dance beforehand, how do you feel now?”

Enjolras put his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, entwining their fingers. “I am honestly so relieved.” He grinned, throwing his head back. “I had no idea how it was going to go, but it went perfectly. Thank-you, Grantaire. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Well, it was a beautiful dance and a beautiful story. We are honoured to have shared this with,” Myriel said. “Now, to the judges. Fantine.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to say. Everything about the dance was just so beautiful, I could barely take notes. There was the occasional hand out of place or wrong leg, but overall it was definitely your best dance yet. Thank-you so much for sharing that with us.”

Grantaire half tuned out, concentrating on Enjolras instead. He had tears down his face and was flushed and sweaty, but he was smiling, eyes on trained on the judges as they gave their comments. Grantaire finally allowed himself to relax for the first time that week, so, _so_ happy with how they had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (here i am five months later, whoops, but don't worry i only have one more chapter to write then its completely done!)


	4. Week 4

* * *

 

“You’re famous,” Courfeyrac sang, leaning in from behind Grantaire, hands on his shoulders, before moving around to sit in the chair across from him. They had planned to meet up for lunch at the Musain, at Courfeyrac’s insistence, during their breaks, along with Éponine and Floreal, who had yet to arrive.

Grantaire cocked his head. “I thought that was the celebrities.”

“Well, yes, but also you,” Courfeyrac grinned. “More specifically, you and Enjolras are famous.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Courfeyrac took out his phone, took a moment to find something and then showed Grantaire, looking smug. It was a tweet from the other night, exclaiming how “cute” Grantaire and Enjolras apparently were. “There’s quite a few of them, too. People love you.”

“I really don’t need to see this right now.”

“Why?” Courfeyrac asked, dropping his hand.

“I don’t need to see people talking about me _—_ _us_. It just makes it all the more clear how impossible it is.”

“Oh, R, it isn’t impossible. We’ve all said this before, but he _likes_ you and everyone knows Enjolras’ reputation with people. He never gets along with others.” He paused, giving Grantaire a look. “Éponine and Floreal are here now, we’ll talk about something else.”  

Grantaire heard the chair beside him scrape against the floor as Éponine flopped down next to him, punching him in the shoulder. “Ow, what was that for?”

“For looking so miserable. Cheer up, we’re here now, your life is complete.”

“Trust me, my happiness in life declines significantly whenever you’re around.” He earned another punch for that.

Courfeyrac leaned forward, commanding their attention. “So,” he started. “The reason I have called you guys here today is because yesterday, Fantine came around to my rehearsal with Cosette and gave us an offer. As in, the four of us.” He leaned back triumphantly.

Éponine looked at him, sceptically. “Which is?”

“Well, apparently she has some contacts in the National Ballet and says that they’ve been looking for some fresh faces, and, I quote,” he held up a hand dramatically, “that she ‘has been thoroughly impressed with all of us and is happy to make a phone call’.  So basically, as soon as Dancing with the Stars is over, we all have a job if you guys are interested.”

“Oh my God,” Floreal said. “That’s—that’s amazing. It’s like the highest we can go.” She looked on in disbelief at Courfeyrac. Grantaire felt the same. The National Ballet had always been a dream of his, had been the pinnacle of what could be achieved in the ballet world. He saw Éponine out of the corner of his eye looking down.

“Are you sure she said all of us?” Grantaire asked, astounded. “She actually said our names—you didn’t misinterpret her?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac nodded. “Now, the positions aren’t definite. We would have to audition, but not go through the hurdles of auditions just to audition, _and_ she said she would put in a good word for us.”

“This is just—” Floreal was interrupted by Courfeyrac’s phone, which chimed loudly. Courfeyrac picked it up excitedly and started typing hurriedly. “This is amazing. We have to say yes,” she continued.

Éponine looked anxiously at Floreal. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Éponine,” Floreal said cautiously. “You can’t just give up an opportunity like this.”

Éponine shook her head, and Grantaire grabbed her hand. “But we would be travelling, and I can’t do that to Gavroche. I can’t leave him there. Not with them. Not alone.”

Grantaire turned towards Éponine, leaning in close. “We can think of something. Give him me and Courf’s place while we’re away. Lend him money. We’ve been over this. He doesn’t have to live there. He would be safe at ours.”

“He’s 15, R,” she looked at him. “That’s not old enough to live alone.”

“You and I both know that he is more than capable of looking after himself. We’ll make sure that he’s set up and knows what to do. He’ll be completely fine.”

Her face went stony. “Just leave it.”

The table went silent, Courfeyrac still typing on his phone, now grinning. Grantaire kicked his foot underneath the table, leaning back in his chair and purposefully ignoring the tension. “Who’re talking to?”

“Huh?” Courfeyrac looked up, surprised to have everyone’s attention on him. “Oh, um, Combeferre. I told him to come meet us. Apparently, he’s grabbing Enjolras, too.” He shot Grantaire a look, who pointedly ignored it, as usual. “So, National Ballet. You guys in? It’s gonna be so much fun.”

“We’re still deciding on that.” Grantaire said, shooting Éponine a look, who stared back.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, eyebrows raised. “Why wouldn’t—?” He choked, eyes catching on the counter, where Enjolras and Combeferre were, ordering, having just walked in. “Oh, no,” he said quietly.

“Are you still really freaking out every time you see Combeferre?” Floreal asked, rolling her eyes. “I know you’re in love with him, but seriously, this is getting a bit much.”

Grantaire looked over at where they stood, assessing Combeferre before turning back and smirking at Courfeyrac, who currently had his head faced towards the ceiling, as if praying. “I think Courfeyrac may have just noticed Combeferre’s tattoos for the first time.”

Courfeyrac looked at him, eyes wide with amazement and fear. “I…”

Grantaire leaned over and patted him on the head. “I know, darling.”

Grantaire was just leaning back, when Enjolras and Combeferre arrived, taking the end of the table, next to Grantaire and Courfeyrac. Grantaire grinned when Combeferre automatically said something to Courfeyrac, who looked dazed as he nodded along.

“So, Ferre,” Grantaire began. “Cool tattoos. How long have you had those?”

Enjolras gave him a questioning look, and Grantaire nodded subtly towards Courfeyrac, whose fingers were slowly reaching out to Combeferre’s arm. He had a full sleeve on his right arm, consisting of various things, such as a moth, the Deathly Hallows, and chemical symbols threaded throughout the solar system. Enjolras let out an “ah”.

Combeferre turned towards the rest of the table, his dark skin flushing slightly. “Um, I just got them finished a couple of months ago.” He glanced towards Courfeyrac, who had reached his arm, and was tracing the ink lightly. “Do you like them?” he asked, softly.

Courfeyrac’s head snapped up, “Oh, um, they’re beautiful. Honestly, they’re just so… nice.” He flushed, looking sheepishly at Combeferre. “I mean— y’know, not like _nice_ , as in only okay, but _nice_ as in amazing and pretty and so cool and… I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Combeferre grinned. “Thank-you, Courf.”

Courfeyrac just smiled dazedly back. As he started to say something else, Grantaire snuck a glance at Éponine, who was staring at her glass in front of her. He would figure out someway to take care of Gavroche. She deserved this opportunity more than anyone else.

 

* * *

 

_Plié. Turn out foot. Prepare. Turn. Repeat._

Grantaire stood in front of the mirror, doing pirouette after pirouette, assessing his posture, positioning, the turn of his knee, everything. Sweat dripped down his face as he continued to turn, moving on to fouettés when he was finally satisfied, his leg whipping out with precision on every turn.

_Plié. Turn out foot. Prepare. Turn. Repeat._

It was nearing ten o’clock at night and he was still in the dance studio, Enjolras having left hours ago. He had given him a hug, squeezing Grantaire’s torso as he grinned, ecstatic about their dance, a faced-paced, quirky quickstep. Grantaire had slowly waved back as he left the room, slumping against the wall as soon as the door was closed.

Since then, Grantaire had been obsessively perfecting every dance move he knew, music failing to blare out his thoughts.

_Turn._ Éponine’s head hanging down, not willing to leave her brother alone. _Turn._ Grantaire’s sister calling him, asking him to come home. _Turn._ Courfeyrac’s eyes never leaving Combeferre, looking hopeful but depressingly sad simultaneously. _Turn._ The excitement but paralysing fear of performing live in a few nights. _Turn._ Enjolras putting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, staring into his eyes as he says something that he can’t remember. _Turn._ The sound of his father shouting through the door. _Turn._ Fantine’s offer, hanging over his head. _Turn._ The overwhelming, all-consuming need to just have a _drink._

He fell to his knees, collapsing over himself as he took in a deep breath, forcing himself to control his breathing.  He closed his eyes, forcing all the images out and slowly stood up, walking towards his bag, grabbing his bottle and taking a long drink.

He shook his body, letting loose, before checking his phone. Two texts from his sister, checking when he can come down to see them, seven from Courfeyrac, mostly surrounding the episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race that he was watching and one wondering about Grantaire’s own whereabouts, and, surprisingly, a text from Enjolras, sending him an article about the effects of climate change that they had been talking about earlier that day.

Grantaire was just reading through the article, already planning all his arguments, when Courfeyrac’s face popped up on his phone, calling him.

“Yo,” he answered.

“Are you still at the studio? Shouldn’t it be closed by now?”

“Yeah, I am. George gave me the key to lock up.”

“What are you even doing there?”

Grantaire shrugged, forgetting that Courfeyrac couldn’t see him. “Practising.”

Courfeyrac scoffed. “Like you need the practice.”

“Hey, no one’s perfect.”

“Okay, seriously, why are you still there?”

Grantaire paused, looking over to the mirror, seeing himself. His dark curls hang over his face, his whole body flushed and sweaty. He couldn’t seem to look away as he said, “My sister called today.”

“Oh.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah.”

“And, uh, what did she want?” Courfeyrac sounded hesitant.

Grantaire’s relationship with his family was strange, as most relationships were. They didn’t outright hate each other but his father had different beliefs in what made a proper profession and good life choices, and therefore Grantaire had barely spoken to them in five years, ever since he was old enough to leave home. His relationship with his younger sister and mother had been strained since then, as he distanced himself more and more.

“She wants me to come see them. Apparently, there’s news.” Grantaire walked to the mirror, turning his head this way and that to examine the scruff lining his jaw.

“When?”

“Next week.”

“But—”

“I know. I can’t exactly just leave for a few days. We don’t have time.”

“Is it important? Do you have to go?”

“She was pretty insistent. And I haven’t talked to her in months. I don’t think she would’ve asked if it wasn’t.”

Courfeyrac paused, and Grantaire could picture him sitting on their couch, eyes facing towards the ceiling as he thought. “Well, you could always take Enjolras with you.”

Grantaire choked. “What?”

“Well, think about it,” Courfeyrac said, “we only have two dances next week and they’re both just partner ones, so no one else is involved. You have the paddock up there that we always used to dance on, perfect for practising. And,” he paused, excitedly, “it’s more bonding time for you two.”

“I can’t just _take_ him.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“I— uh,” he stared at his face in the mirror, disbelief splayed across it. A single curl hung in front of his eye. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna take him, aren’t I?”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Yep. It’s gonna be great.”

After Grantaire hung up, he turned the music back on, continuing to practice and practice well into the night, ignoring all his thoughts and focusing on his technique.

_Plié. Turn out foot. Prepare. Turn. Repeat._

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Grantaire tiredly pushed open the door to the dance room the next morning to see Enjolras already warming up inside, chatting quietly with Bahorel, who was laid out on the floor, throwing a small ball above himself repeatedly.

“You’re here early. Also, hey, ‘Rel.”

Enjolras looked over at him, smiling. “Well, since you are consistently here an hour before me every day, I thought I should mix it up. Bahorel saw me and decided I could use the company.”

“I come early every day because I have to actually choreograph your dances, you really don’t need to be here,” he said, slumping his way over to them. Enjolras eyed him thoughtfully.

“It’s no problem at all. Ferre was coming in early anyway.”

Grantaire plopped down next to them, snatching the ball away from Bahorel. “How’re things with you?”

Bahorel sat up, grinning at Grantaire. “Can’t complain. If you don’t remember, top of the leader board last week.”

Grantaire grimaced, as Enjolras said, “Only just.” They had gotten a total score of 24, just under Bahorel and Floreal’s 25. (It had been their highest score yet, which resulted in Enjolras grabbing Grantaire in yet another massive hug. He had not been able to concentrate for the rest of the night, much to Éponine’s amusement.)

“And that’s what matters. I could win this thing.”

“Someone’s getting cocky. Still over a month left to go.”

Bahorel nodded, snatching the ball back and standing up. “Anyway, I should head. Floreal will be expecting me soon.” He turned towards the door, walking backwards as he said, “Hey, you free tonight, R? We need to properly catch up, dude. Come over to mine, I’ll supply the games, you supply the pizza. I think Feuilly was planning on staying the night, too.”

Grantaire waved, as he also stood up, giving his other hand to Enjolras to pull him up. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, as Bahorel left the room. He wondered slowly over to the stereo, setting it up for their music. Enjolras came up beside him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He looked over at him, “You okay?”

Enjolras flushed slightly, “Ah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Grantaire cocked his head, surveying him—his hands were fidgeting, and he couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. He was definitely not fine.

“I don’t believe you.”

Enjolras huffed. “It’s just well— Ferre said you were here until past ten last night.”

“How does he know that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Courfeyrac.”

“Of course. And?”

Enjolras carefully laid a hand on his arm, and Grantaire’s eyes focused to where there were fingers playing slightly with his sleeve. “It just seems very late. Were you okay?”

Grantaire looked up to meet Enjolras’ startingly blue eyes, which were staring intently into his own. His blonde hair fell around his eyes, slightly obscuring them and Grantaire resisted the urge to brush it back.

“You should really start tying your hair back, it will be easier for you,” he replied, moving towards the middle of the room to get into position, music playing in the background.

“Don’t ignore my question,” Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms and following Grantaire.

“I’m just saying, it would make your like much more easier. No hair flopping around your eyes while your dancing.” He motioned with his hand in front of his own face, jokingly whipping it out of the way.

Enjolras stood in front of him. “Be serious, Grantaire.”

“I am wild,” he said, poking his tongue out.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras groaned.

“You are awfully insistent about this.”

Enjolras pulled them both down, so they were sitting cross legged, facing each other and forced him to meet his eyes. “I am. You look tired and worried and I would like to know why, if you’ll allow me to.”

Grantaire hesitated. “I guess it kinda concerns you anyway.”

Enjolras looked confused. “It does?”

“My sister called yesterday,” Grantaire started, looking down. He didn’t really want to talk about this, but he was going to have to at some point and he had the feeling that Enjolras wouldn’t give up until he said something. “And, well, we don’t really talk very often, and apparently my parents have something to tell me that can’t wait, and I need to go see them next week. Which is a problem seeming they live nearly half a day away.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said dumbly. “Well, I guess we could just practice really hard while you’re still here.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I think they want me for a few days. It sounds pretty serious.” He squeezed his hands into fists, fighting the growing urge to have a drink the more he thought about everything. Enjolras slowly reached out, as if not to frighten him, and held his hands, rubbing them between his own, soothing them. Grantaire forced himself to continue, pointedly looking away from his hands, “Courfeyrac, um, suggested that maybe you could come with me? We have this massive paddock behind the house that I used to dance on all of the time. I know it’s inconvenient, but I really think I need to go, my parents never ask to see me. I don’t want to hassle you, and it’s kinda a big commitment, you might have other things on and—”

Enjolras squeezed his hands. “Taire, it sounds like a perfect idea. The only thing I have on next week are these rehearsals. As long as we’re back for the show, then we should do it.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, surprised. “Really?”

“Truly,” he replied, grinning. “Was there anything else or should we start dancing? Actually do that thing that we’re here for.”

He had plenty more to say, to prepare Enjolras for when he meet his parents and everything that would involve. He was also tempted to tell him about his alcoholism, but that was a scary thought and Grantaire definitely needed to think it through before he came anywhere close to doing it, so he shook his head. “Nope, that’s it. Let’s dance.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, after coming home late from the live show, where Grantaire and Enjolras had come first again, just in front of Courfeyrac and Cosette, Grantaire was bombarded at the door by a bounding Courfeyrac, grinning widely, who had left earlier than him. He quickly closed the door behind him, as he was dragged over to their couch, sighing. “What is it now?”

Courfeyrac squirmed, clapping his hands together. “He did it!”

“Who did what?” Grantaire asked, but he had a pretty good idea who and what Courfeyrac was referring to.

“Combeferre asked me out! Well, I think he did. We’re getting coffee tomorrow and it’s just us and he seemed nervous when asking so I’m pretty sure it’s a date. Omigod, I’m so excited! What should I wear? I have nothing.”

Grantaire smiled, “Of course you have stuff to wear. You have the best style out of anyone I know.”

“That’s not saying much, seeming you only know like three people.”

“Do you want my help or not?” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. He pulled Courfeyrac up and headed to the hallway. “Come on, let’s find something now, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep.” They went into Courfeyrac’s room, Grantaire flicking the light on to find the cupboard open and clothes all over the floor. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”

Courfeyrac looked sheepishly over at him, “Kinda? But I’m so lost.” He fell back onto his bed, flinging an arm over his face. “What am I going to do?”

Grantaire reached down, picking up various items of clothing as Courfeyrac rabbled on, interjecting occasionally when he became particularly panicked (“What if we have nothing to talk about?” “Of course you will, you guys haven’t stopped texting in three weeks.”). This continued into the night until Grantaire cleaned up the clothes, found an appropriate outfit, which he laid out on a chair, and Courfeyrac fell asleep, still in his clothes, halfway through a sentence about the high likelihood of him vomiting the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	5. Week 5

“Who are you spying on?”

Grantaire jumped, whipping his up to see Enjolras standing beside him. He was currently sitting at the back of the Musain, surreptitiously watching Courfeyrac and Combeferre on their date. Well, he thought he was being surreptitious. Apparently not.

“Oh, um, no one,” he said quickly, sitting up properly and motioning to the seat across from him. Enjolras slid into it, handing over a coffee to Grantaire, who looked at it, shocked.

“You would be more believable if you actually had a reason to be here,” he said, referencing the previously empty table. “And don’t worry, I was joking. I actually came here for the same reason. Ferre gave me a glare as I walked in,” he leaned in, whispering conspiringly, a smile playing on his face.

Grantaire laughed. “I would say the same for Courf, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t even notice me. Hasn’t taken his eyes off Combeferre yet. Romantic, isn’t it?” he added, sarcastically.

Enjolras nodded, gaze trained on the couple. “They are pretty cute.”

Grantaire took a sip of his coffee, surprised to find it exactly how he liked it, and addressed Enjolras. “So, you ready to leave tomorrow?”

“Of course, I’ll be ready and waiting by 8.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, distractedly. He kept his eyes trained on Courfeyrac and Combeferre, watching as they leaned towards each other, deep in conversation. “I— um,” he paused, glancing quickly at Enjolras. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” Enjolras asked, looking concerned.

“Nothing, forget about it.”

Enjolras nodded, wisely dropping the subject, despite looking like he wanted to do the opposite. “So, how are you feeling about going to see your parents?” he asked, cautiously, not realising that that was hitting close to the topic Grantaire didn’t want to talk about.

He paused, unsure of how to answer. Of course he missed his family—especially his sister—but it had been so long, and he didn’t leave on a good note. (On a really bad note, actually. One that involved yelling and slamming of doors and words that none of them meant. The worst possible note to leave on.)

“I’m feeling alright, I guess,” he said after a moment. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them. And I have no idea as to why we have to go. It’s a bit worrying.”

Enjolras nodded. “I’m sure everything will be alright. Besides, I’m excited to see how they put up with you for 18 years,” he said, poking his tongue out and Grantaire knew he was trying to relieve the mounting tension. He played along, showing his gratitude.

“How dare you! I was the definition of a delightful child.”

Enjolras smirked. “Oh, I can tell by the way you boss me around incessantly.”

“Only because you don’t listen to me properly!”

“Lover’s quarrel?”

Grantaire looked up to see Éponine—who was grinning like a Cheshire cat—standing next to the table, Cosette beside her, looking amused. He glared at them.

“What do you want?” he said, noticing that Enjolras had gone slightly red at her comment.

“Now, that’s no way to speak to your best friend, don’t you think, Enjolras?”

Enjolras seemed to have gained back control of his blush and nodded at Éponine, before turning his attention to Grantaire. “See, this is what I was talking about. Completely rude.”

“All the time, too,” Éponine said, shaking her head sadly.

“Can you guys stop ganging up on me please? I am an innocent victim here.”

“Oh, I’m on your side here, R. You’re not rude,” Cosette said.

Grantaire shot her a smile. “Thank-you, you’re now my best friend.”

“In fact,” she said, ignoring him. “You’re probably the cutest, sweetest, most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, ruffling his hair, causing him to groan and hide his face in his hands. Éponine burst into laughter. “Like a little excitable puppy. Adorable.”

“I hate you all,” he said, muffled. He peaked through his fingers to see Enjolras laughing, his head thrown back. Grantaire couldn’t help but think he looked radiant, his hair glowing around him like a halo. He slumped his head on the table, shaking his almost full coffee, causing a bit splash on his sleeve. “Damn it. Gonna go to the bathroom,” he said, standing up.

As he made it to the bathroom door, he realised that Éponine had followed him. “You know you’re a girl, right? I’m a guy and don’t need a friend to accompany me to the toilet.” He pushed open the door, allowing for her to duck under his arm, walking inside.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said, leaning against the bench beside the sink. Grantaire grabbed some paper towel and wetting it, before dabbing at the coffee stain. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring resolutely towards the bathroom stalls, arms crossed. He waited, allowing her to talk when she was ready.

“Fantine’s offer—” she began, and Grantaire—knowing exactly where this was going—kept his focus trained on the stain, so as to give her some semblance of her much-needed privacy. He knew how much she didn’t want to talk about this. “I really don’t think I can do it.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly why, dickass.”

“Not completely sure I do. Why don’t you explain?” he prompted.

She huffed, glaring at him. “I can’t just leave Gav and you perfectly well know that. He’s 15, for Christ’s sake. He would be stuck there alone with _them_ and I just can’t do that. It’s not fair to him.” Éponine didn’t live with her family anymore as she moved out the day of her 18th birthday, but couldn’t take Gavroche with her, which Grantaire knew she carried the guilt around with her every day. She still met with him every day, and forced him to stay over at hers whenever he could, which—with the way he was able to sneak around—was almost every night these days.

“And _you_ know perfectly well that he would be completely fine living there or by himself,” he countered, turning towards her. “He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s seen his fair share of shit for someone his age, which sucks but is true, and you have to give him more credit. Like I’ve said, I’ll give him my place—I need someone to look after my cat, anyway.”

Éponine looked up at him, tears glistening her eyes, but defiant. “We need to get him out of there. Properly.”

Grantaire nodded, throwing the paper towel into the bin, and pulling her out of the bathroom, an arm around her shoulders. “We do. And we’ll figure out how to do so. But today, you need to concentrate on winning this competition.” He grinned at her, gently pushing her away from him and walking back to the table, where Enjolras and Cosette were happily chatting.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Grantaire said, stretching out the sound and grinning at Courfeyrac as they drove towards the studio. “How was it?”

“Hm?” Courfeyrac turned his head towards Grantaire from where he had been staring out the passenger window. “Oh, um, it was good.” He started blushing furiously.

It was the first time Grantaire had properly been able to Courfeyrac since yesterday. Between rehearsals and the necessity for sleep, they had missed each other at their flat. Now, the next morning, as Grantaire drove to drop Courfeyrac off and pick Enjolras up for his parents, he seized his opportunity.

“You looked pretty happy from what I could see.”

“First off,” Courfeyrac said, pointing his finger accusatorily at Grantaire. “I have not forgiven you for that. Second, you looked pretty happy too with Enjolras, so don’t you start.”

“Oh, so you actually looked away from Ferre once? I was under the impression you didn’t take his eyes off him once.”

“While I do believe Combeferre to be the prettiest person alive—maybe excluding Cosette because, well, she is an actual goddess—I do have awareness of things around me when I am with him and I noticed the second you arrived, which I did not appreciate. Anyway,” he said, blushing again and smiling down into his lap. “It went very well. We’re going on a second date tomorrow night. Going to see that new Marvel movie. Ferre’s a bit of a nerd.”

Grantaire smiled, keeping his eyes on the road as they made it to the carpark. “I’ve noticed.”

Courfeyrac sighed, head hitting the headrest. “R, he was just so perfect. I’m pretty sure I’m in love already.”

“Really?” he said, shocked. “Isn’t it a bit soon? You’ve only known him a month.” He pulled into a parking spot, turning the car off and turning to face Courfeyrac.

“I know. It’s silly and fast, but it just feels right, you know?”

“Um, no, not really.”

Courfeyrac looked at him, cocking his head. “You don’t feel that way about Enjolras?”

Grantaire looked away, staring towards the studio. “Infatuation, sure. But not love. I don’t think I know him well enough to feel that way.”

“R,” Courfeyrac said, giving him a disheartening look. “You don’t need to know someone inside out to love them. You just know sometimes. From the way they talk to you, to how they treat cashiers, how they show their emotions, how they respond to conflict. I don’t need to know Combeferre’s parents’ names and what he had for a first pet to know that his eyes light up when he starts talking about something he loves. That he’s fascinated in obscure, seemingly meaningless things, like _moths_ , and treats every person he’s met with respect and kindness despite the world not being kind to him and that’s why I love him.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“You really love him.”

“That’s what I said.”

Grantaire opened the car door and got out, Courfeyrac following him. “Damn.” He closed the door and leaned across the car, looking at his best friend. “That’s pretty intense.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Why do you think I’ve been complaining all these weeks. All the feelings and emotions bottled up inside ‘cause I can’t exactly tell him.” He started towards the building.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Grantaire said, catching up to him. “From what Enjolras says, he doesn’t shut up about you.” He slung an arm around Courfeyrac.

“Still not gonna tell him—it’s too soon,” he got in reply, as his arm was pushed off. “New topic of conversation. You ready?”

Grantaire groaned, having been thoroughly distracted from his impending doom. “I don’t think I ever could be.”

“How often have you talked to you ma lately?”

“Not a lot. A phone call about once a month.” A long, awkward phone call where she badgered him about his eating habits and whether he had had a drink, tried too hard to show interest in any potentials dates he went on (which there were none of and he especially wouldn’t tell her if there were) and they both steadfastly ignored the gigantic, fucking impossible to ignore elephant in the room that was his father. They were not his most pleasant time on the month.

“And?” Courfeyrac prompted.

“Painful,” he grunted.

“Ah.”

“Uh huh.” They made it to the front door, where both Enjolras and Combeferre were waiting, Enjolras looking extremely put out at the early hour, two coffees in hand and snuggled up in a jumper to avoid the morning chill. He had a small duffel bag slumped at his feet.

Grantaire pointed towards it. “Is that enough?”

Enjolras glared at him. “It’s only two nights. I’ve packed everything I need. Just because you need to fill your life with unessential possessions to feel any semblance of happiness, doesn’t mean everyone else has to.”

Grantaire barked a laugh, as Combeferre scolded him, rolling his eyes. “Enjolras,” he said warningly. “Sorry about him, he doesn’t do early mornings.”

“I can see,” Grantaire smirked. “Well, we better be going.” He picked up Enjolras’ bag and nodded to Courfeyrac, who gave him a quick hug.

“You’ll be fine. Call me whenever, okay?” he said, pulling back to glare into Grantaire’s eyes.

“Yes, sir.” Courfeyrac pushed him away, and Grantaire turned, waving to Combeferre, who was giving Enjolras a pointed look. “Come on, Ange.”

Enjolras pouted at the nickname, as he stepped in line with Grantaire and stuck out one of the coffees.

“Twice in two days, what is happening to the world?” Grantaire said.

“Just take it,” Enjolras growled, and Grantaire did, offering his thanks.

“You really are pissy in the morning,” he said, as they reached his car.

“There’s a reason,” Enjolras said, sliding into the passenger seat, “that I organise all of our sessions to be scheduled for 10 o’clock and no earlier. No one should be awake before the sun.”

“You’re about two hours too late for that.” Grantaire started the car, sipping his (once again perfect) coffee, before pulling out of the carpark.

“Besides the point. I’m going to nap for the next half an hour and then maybe I’ll be okay. Goodnight.”

Grantaire laughed, as he turned the radio down, turning on to the freeway and towards his parents’ house.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Grantaire groaned as he stepped out of the car, stretching his back and neck. Four hours of sitting in the same awkward position was not good for a professional dancer. He slammed the door shut, going to the trunk to get his bags.

“Remember,” he said, calling to Enjolras who was still slowly making his way out of the car. “Ma will love you but—”

“There is very little chance of your father liking me, I know.” Enjolras, now standing next to Grantaire, took his hand and squeezed it briefly, before picking up his bag. “It will be okay, Taire. If it’s a total disaster we’ll just go and practice, it’s the reason I’m here, anyway.”

Enjolras’ mood had considerably increased after his nap and the coffee kicked in, making the journey relatively pleasant as he distracted Grantaire with inane chatter, from Combeferre’s take on the date to the real reason Marius and Cosette broke up (Cosette realised the very pressing matter that she was definitely gayer than previously believed).

Grantaire had also filled in Enjolras a condensed version of his family. Of his strained relationship with his mother, about his annoying sister who he still loved dearly (probably more than anyone else in the world) and of his lack of a relationship with his father (this part had been the hardest—to explain the long and complicated history between them which even Grantaire himself didn’t fully understand).

Grantaire took a deep breath, steeling himself. “We just have to get through meals.”

“Easy,” Enjolras grinned, pushing Grantaire towards the front door. His family were the owners of a winery and vineyard, a business that had been in his family for generations. It was one of the main contentious arguments between him and his father, who wanted him to inherit the business one day, and Grantaire, even when he was drinking too much every day with no end in sight, knew he would probably unintentionally kill himself if he did.

A blur shot out of the front door, yelling, “Henri!”, and Grantaire recognised the shape of his sister running towards him.

Enjolras snorted. “Henri, huh?”

“Forgot to mention that, did I?” he said, pointedly ignoring Enjolras’ look.

“Yes, indeed.”

Grantaire opened his arms as his sister barrelled into him. “Hey, Marie. How’ve you been?”

She slapped him on his arm. “Well, you would know that if you actually talked to me once in a while.”

“Hey!” he said, throwing his arms up in defence. “This is a two way street, girly, you can’t talk.”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not a girl anymore.” She glared at him, before pulling him into another hug.

Grantaire wrapped his hands her, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you, too, M,” he said into her hair, before pulling away, “And you’re not eighteen for another three months, so girly it is.”

Enjolras coughed subtly beside him and Grantaire looked over at him.

“Right,” he said, motioning to Enjolras. “Marie, this is Enjolras, who I’m sure you know relatively well.” She blushed at this, as it was well known that she had had a massive crush on him since his first film. “And Enjolras, this is Marie, my annoying brat of a sister.”

Enjolras, the gentleman that he is, held out his hand, which Marie took. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Marie gazed up at him, a little starstruck. “Oh, um, same!”

Grantaire groaned. “Come on, let’s go inside. Get this over with,” he said and started walking towards the house, Enjolras and Marie on either side of him.

“Just be careful, Henri,” Maris said, giving him a concerned look. “Father hasn’t, well, been very pleasant lately.”

“Joy,” he said, as he opened the door, allowing Marie to go in first. His mother was waiting on the other side and pulled him into a hug the moment he was inside, Enjolras behind him, softly closing the door.

“Oh, Henri, look at you,” she said, pulling back and putting her hands on his cheeks, assessing him. “You look so young without any hair here.” She lightly hit his cheek.

“I know it’s how you prefer it, Ma.” He stepped back and pulled Enjolras forward, from where he had been quietly observing everything. “This is Enjolras.”

“Oh, it’s lovely to meet you. You have been fantastic on the show, so far. Marie and I vote for you every week.” Grantaire grimaced slightly at the exclusion of his father, not that he was surprised. “Thank-you for taking your time to come down, I know it’s been inconvenient.”

Enjolras smiled. “No problems at all. I’m excited to meet the people who made the wonderful person that is your son.”

Grantaire muttered, “Suck up”, as his mother beamed, ushering them further into the house. “I have lunch set up already, if you’re hungry. You’ll have to excuse your father, Henri, he couldn’t take the afternoon off to see you, but he will be here for dinner. Tea, Enjolras?”

They all ate lunch together and Grantaire was not at all surprised by how amicable Enjolras was, despite the rumours that Enjolras did not get along with people (perhaps, those people tended to be bigoted and rude, so Enjolras felt dignified to be an arsehole right back to them). He charmed his mother and sister, laughing at their jokes and making interesting conversation and Grantaire thought back to his conversation with Courfeyrac that morning and how he knew he loved Combeferre because of the way he interacted with people, and while Grantaire refused to acknowledge any feelings of love towards Enjolras, he was starting to see the merit in Courfeyrac’s words.

After lunch, Enjolras offered to clean up, which meant that Grantaire had to, as well, otherwise his mother would have given him an admonishing look and sighed, which Grantaire hated. Then they went outside to the paddock behind the vineyard, where they practiced for hours. This week, one of their dances was the foxtrot, which for some reason, seemed to be tripping Enjolras up.

“Come on, Enjolras,” Grantaire growled, “we’ve been over this. 1, 2, 3, 4. Slow, slow. Quick, quick.” He emphasised his words with the feet movement, pulling Enjolras along, pushing his shoulder to get him to stand up straight. He was just slightly shorter than Grantaire, by barely an inch.

“Grantaire, stop it.” Enjolras pulled back, glaring at him, blonde hair slicked back with sweat. “Stop taking your frustrations out on me. I know you’re annoyed to be back here. That you don’t want to see your dad and you’re scared about why we’re here because you have no idea, but don’t take it out on me. We are going to get nowhere with you yelling at me.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, feeling the panic start to build in his chest. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes.

“Let’s take a break, okay?” Enjolras said softly. “We’ve been at this for three hours, and we can fit a couple more in before dinner, so let’s just relax.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, flopping down onto the grass, splaying his arms and legs out. Enjolras sat down beside him, arms behind him to prop himself up, looking around.

“It really is beautiful here.”

“I know,” Grantaire sighed. The green hills, seemingly endless vineyard and clear blue sky had always made this place feel magical. It made Grantaire feel at peace and nauseous at the same time.

“Then why didn’t you want to stay?” Enjolras asked, cautiously, looking at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s not gonna make me relax,” Grantaire huffed, then paused. “Being around a winery and vineyard your whole like kind of introduces you to alcohol a lot earlier than most kids,” he started, once again closing his eyes, to avoid seeing Enjolras. “And, well, I guess I gained a dependency on it quite quickly as a teenager. I’ve—I’ve had depression since I was fourteen and neither my parents nor I knew how to deal with it, so I used alcohol. When my dad told me that I had to start taking more responsibility for the business, even the part of me that was alcohol addled knew that I couldn’t and shouldn’t do that, so I said no.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head towards Enjolras, who had laid down beside him and taken his hand. He took a breath that came out shakily. “Pursued dancing instead—the one thing that made me remotely happy. My father hasn’t forgiven me yet.”

“It was the right decision,” Enjolras said, linking their fingers and Grantaire allowed himself to concentrate on that rather than the fact that he’d just divulged his scariest secret.

“I know,” he said, simply. And he did know. While it had been painful and created an irreparable rift in his family, it was his first acknowledgement that at eighteen years old, he shouldn’t be living the way he was. It was his first step to changing his life, which was what happened. “Things changed after that. It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t easy, but now I’m three years sober and hope I never drink again.”

Enjolras looked at him, smiling softly. “I’m glad. Otherwise we may never have met and that would be a shame.”

Grantaire chuckled, “Indeed it would.”

They stayed like that for a while, talking quietly, hands still entwined, until Grantaire pulled Enjolras up and they danced, this time relaxed and laughing as they did so.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

They spent the next day perfecting their dances, going over and over them until it was burned into their minds. Every step, every movement, every slightly bent elbow, straight knee, turned foot, until it was perfection. Grantaire worked them tirelessly and Enjolras didn’t complain once. Grantaire figured Enjolras could tell just how anxious he was becoming during the course of the day. Dinner the previous night had been strained and awkward and whatever pressing matter that needed him there hadn’t been brought up. Grantaire’s father had sat moodily at the head of the table, attacking his food and glaring at Grantaire, while Marie and Enjolras made polite but tense conversation.

Marie brought them out lunch during mid-afternoon, as both of them seemed to have forgotten that food was a necessity. Sandwiches and soda was shared between them as Enjolras and Marie chatted and laughed—they seemed to be becoming quite good friends, after Marie got over her starstruck admiration—and Grantaire sat quietly. She only left at Grantaire’s insistence that they had to get back to practicing, as Enjolras looked apologetically at her.

When they finally made their way back to the house, Grantaire’s hands were sweating and his breathing was become harder to control. Enjolras took him aside before they reached the back door.

“It will be fine, Taire,” he said, rubbing Grantaire’s arms. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right beside you, okay?” He ducked to make sure Grantaire was looking at him.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said faintly. “I’m fine. Let’s go inside. We both need to shower.”

“Separately, I assume?” Enjolras quipped, laughing, causing Grantaire to choke, spluttering soundlessly.

“Just _go_ ,” he said, pushing Enjolras inside.

After they’d both showered (separately, which disappointed Grantaire, who would have quite relished the release of pent up energy, despite dancing all day), they made their way to the dining room, where his mother was setting up dinner.

“Oh, lovely, just in time, dears. Please sit down. Anything to drink Enjolras? We have quite the selection of wine,” she laughed.

Enjolras quickly looked at Grantaire before shaking his head. “Ah, water’s fine, thank-you.”

Grantaire dashed into the kitchen to grab two glasses of water and when he came back, his father was sitting at the table, Marie seated next from him. Grantaire placed the glasses down in front of himself and Enjolras, before sitting down, warily eyeing his father.

“Water, eh, boy?” His father grumbled, looking distastefully at him. “Still on that no drinking thing, then?”

“Ah, yes, Pa,” Grantaire said, awkwardly. “It’s not really something that’s on and off.” His sister gave him a sympathetic smile.

His mother sat down then, effectively halting his father’s reply. “Please, start eating.”

There was a brief period of silence as everyone grabbed their food and started eating. Grantaire ignored the looks he got from everyone.

“So,” his father started, clearing his throat and commanding the table’s attention. “We need to discuss the reason that you’re here, Henri.” Grantaire looked up at his father, whose eyes quickly slid to Enjolras, as if he was uncomfortable with him being here. Grantaire was glad that he was, as Enjolras quietly moved his leg, so that their knees were touching, comforting him. “Lately, we have been having some financial difficulty with the vineyard, as your mother and I are getting too old to effectively run the business.”

Grantaire moved his hands to his lap, as they were starting to shake and Enjolras pushed his knee further into his. They could both see where this was going.

His father continued. “And I know we’ve had this discussion before, Henri. Many times and it has resulted in many arguments, but we only have two options. Either you return and work here with your sister, or we lose the business and possibly the house,” he finished, looking sternly at Grantaire, as though all of this was his fault, which he couldn’t help agreeing with.

His mother looked guiltily at him. “I’m sorry, Henri. I know you don’t want to work here, but we’re struggling, darling.”

“Why can’t you get someone else to work here?”

“We can’t afford it,” his father said plainly.

Grantaire stared at him, shocked. “So, I would be working for free?” he said, incredulously.

“Temporarily, yes—”

“No!” Grantaire said, his voice rising. “I’m not leaving a job that pays me pretty fucking well to come to work somewhere I hate for nothing.”

“Henri,” his father’s voice was also rising, “your job will be over in a month, we will allow you to stay there—”

“Allow me to? You don’t have control over what I do. Also, I have a job lined up for afterwards anyway.”

His mother gasped, cutting in. “Oh, what is it, Henri?”

 “The National Ballet. Fantine’s been talking to them and it’s almost guaranteed.” Grantaire stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.” He looked over at Enjolras, who immediately slipped out of the room to get there bags.

“No, you’re not.” His father stood up, too, towering over Grantaire despite being shorter. “You have a responsibility to this family to fix what you have caused by coming back and working here.”

“No, Pa, I have a responsibility to myself and not kill myself by working here, which is what will happen.” He started towards the front of the house

“Honestly, Henri, you can’t still be on about that. It won’t hurt you to drink!”

Grantaire growled, spinning around to face his father. “You don’t get it—I can’t just have one drink. Once I start, I won’t stop. Forever. I won’t be able to fucking help myself if I’m surrounded by it every single day.” He took a deep breath before calmly continuing, looking at his mother and sister. “I’m sorry. This is horrible, I don’t want to lose the house, but I just _can’t_ be here. I’ll talk to you guys later,” he said, spotting Enjolras loitering in the doorway next to him, bags in hand. He resolutely ignored his father as he walked out of the house.

Once outside, Grantaire’s temporary calm vanished, and he doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. Enjolras crouched in front of him, his hand pushing Grantaire’s curls out of his eyes.

“Hey,” he said in a relaxed, calming tone.

“Hi,” Grantaire said back to him, looking up through his hair that had fallen back onto his face. Enjolras smiled at him, and Grantaire’s heart stuttered.

“Where are your keys? I’ll drive.” Enjolras stood up, pulling Grantaire with him, who clutched onto his arm, and walked towards the car. Grantaire dug out his keys from his bag, passed them to Enjolras and climbed into the passenger seat, taking deep breaths as he did so.

Enjolras got into the driver’s seat, turning the car on before turning to Grantaire. “Ready?” He reached over and squeezed Grantaire’s knee.

“Yeah,” Grantaire sighed. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	6. Week 6

Grantaire groaned, rolling over in his bed, stretching his arms above his head. He could hear an alarm going off somewhere in his room and blearily got up from his bed to turn it off. He had learned the trick years ago to not keep his alarm within arm’s reach of his bed, otherwise he would just fall back asleep. Next to him, his and Courfeyrac’s cat, Alexander, purred into his ear, snuggling against his shoulder. Grantaire reached a hand up, patting the cat’s head and the purring intensified.  

He stumbled out of his room, pulling a hoodie over his head and grabbing his phone on the way, to find Combeferre in his kitchen, making coffee and pancakes. He paused.

“Um, hi?” he said stupidly, looking at Combeferre out of one eye, finding it too bright for him to fully open his eyes.

Combeferre smiled at him. “Hey, how’d you sleep?”

Grantaire awkwardly climbed onto the seats at the kitchen bench, as Courfeyrac came out of his bedroom and headed straight for Combeferre, hugging him from behind. Grantaire didn’t answer, figuring Combeferre was plenty distracted.

Last night had been the live show, where Enjolras and Grantaire had come first again, due to their perfected Foxtrot. Unfortunately, Claire and Bossuet were eliminated, although Grantaire believed he would still see Bossuet around, with Musichetta and Joly working there. It was getting down to the lynchpin of the competition, with only six couples left, and three weeks away from the finale. Grantaire could feel the permanent anticipation building inside himself.

He glanced down at his phone, seeing yet another voicemail from his sister. In the five days that he’d been back, he’d received at least three calls a day from Marie, along with a bombardment of texts. Grantaire had yet to reply, or even read, any of them. Under his sister’s voicemail, he noticed a text from Enjolras, dated from earlier that morning.

_Please enjoy the pancakes that should actually be mine_

Grantaire grinned.

_they smell delicious. youre really missing out_

He looked up as Courfeyrac sat down beside him. “Have a good night?” Grantaire asked, slyly.

Courfeyrac smirked at him, dark curly hair falling haphazardly around his face. “I did indeed, thank-you for asking.”

Grantaire snorted, as Combeferre coughed slightly, face darkening as he kept his head leaned over the pancakes. Grantaire’s phone buzzed again and he found a crying emoji from Enjolras, followed by another message.

_Tell Ferre I’ll bring his laptop with me, so he doesn’t have to come back home_

_Also that I have his phone_

_And that I resent the fact that I have to make my own way there today_

Grantaire scoffed, sending back a reply and looking up at Combeferre. “Apparently, Enjolras will bring your laptop and phone with him to the studio. Also, he resents that he was to make his own way there.”

Combeferre groaned, blushing even more as he turned the heat off the pancakes and moved them to the bench, condiments and plates already set up. “I can’t believe I left my phone there last night. I never do that.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, digging into a pancake, smothered in maple syrup. “I’m sure you were sufficiently distracted.” Grantaire was well aware that this was true, as he had walked home with the two of them—or rather, he had walked ahead of them, as they whispered the whole way home, giggling with their arms wrapped around each other.

Courfeyrac elbowed him in the side, before turning to Combeferre. “Thanks for the pancakes,” he said, sweetly. “They’re delicious.” Combeferre smiled back at him and Grantaire mimed throwing up, picking up his empty plate (having scoffed down the pancakes, which were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted), putting it in the sink, before returning to his room.

“Be ready in half an hour! We have a lot to do this week.”

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

“Turn! Turn, turn, turn!” Fantine yelled from the side of the room, roaming around the two couples as they danced. This week’s task was a dance with the judges and Enjolras and Grantaire had been paired with Courfeyrac and Cosette, with Fantine choreographing it and joining in with them. Their dance was also Jive, which happened to be Grantaire’s least favourite style, and, annoyingly, the one Enjolras seemed to be best at.

After two days of rehearsals, Grantaire seemed no closer to being able to dance it properly than he had been at the start. It was starting to get frustrating (that was a lie—it had been frustrating from the beginning).

The music stopped and Grantaire let go of Enjolras, bending down to catch his breath. He felt Enjolras’ hand lightly rub his back.

“Grantaire?” Fantine said.

“Yeah?” He looked up at her, standing up properly.

“Are you okay?” she asked, half concerned, half bemused.

Grantaire huffed. “Perfect.”

She shook her head. “Let’s take a breather.”

Grantaire grabbed his bottle and left the room, walking down the hallway to the front door. He could hear someone behind him but didn’t check to see if it was Courfeyrac or Enjolras.

“R.” It was Courfeyrac, who stood beside him when they got outside. “R, look at me.” He sounded angry.

Grantaire looked at him, pushing his hair back off his face. “Yes?” he shot back.

“You need to talk to Marie,” Courfeyrac said, stern.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do.” Courfeyrac looked at him sharply, grabbing Grantaire’s arm to ensure he didn’t turn away. “It’s been a week—you can’t go on ignoring her forever.”

“Watch me try,” Grantaire growled, glaring at Courfeyrac’s hand.

He didn’t move it. “No. You haven’t been able to concentrate properly all week, it’s a miracle you came first last week. We’ve been practicing the same sequence for two days straight and you haven’t been able to do it once. I am not losing this week because you couldn’t stop being a coward.”

Grantaire looked at him, shocked.

Courfeyrac froze, before shaking himself, softening. “Obviously, I don’t mean that,” he said, releasing his ever-tightening grip on Grantaire’s arm. “I know this is hard. What they asked of you is deplorable, but they’re your _family_ , R. And while I know you would rather just forget they ever existed, you can’t. Talk to Marie tonight. Please.”

Grantaire exhaled, slowly nodding. “Okay,” he said, looking Courfeyrac in the eye. “But on one condition—you buy me pizza. And don’t go the stupid healthy ones. Lots of meat, lots of cheese, lots of sauce.”

Courfeyrac laughed gently. “If you insist.” He tugged Grantaire’s hand, pulling him inside. “Come on, we need to nail this.”

 

* * *

 

Grantaire slumped backwards on to his bed, flinging his phone across the room which landed in a pile of clothes. He turned his head, staring out his window, at the city view. How he and Courfeyrac got this apartment, he still doesn’t know.

There was a knock at his door and Grantaire grunted in response.

“Pizza’s here,” he called from behind the door.

Grantaire closed his eyes, breathing in and out deeply, before getting up and leaving his room. Courfeyrac was already planted in front of the television, pizza in hand as he scrolled through old episodes of Doctor Who, Alexander curled up against his thigh. He stayed quiet as Grantaire sat down, only handing him over a plate of pizza.

Grantaire knew Courfeyrac wouldn’t ask any questions until he was ready, which he was thankful for. He relaxed for a while as they watched Matt Smith’s first episode as the Doctor, munching his way through therapy pizza.

After the end of the episode, he said, “I guess it wasn’t too horrible.”

Courfeyrac glanced at him, slowly taking a sip of his soda. “That’s good,” he said neutrally, waiting for Grantaire to continue.

“She said my pa was still mad and refusing to talk to either of them, but that Ma was arguing for me.” He sighed. “Or at least trying to. Marie says not to worry about it for now and to just finish Dancing With The Stars, then think about it. Not that she wants me to say yes.”

Courfeyrac was about to start talking when there was a loud knock on the door and a short “Oi!” from behind it. He gave Grantaire a look, conveying that they would be continuing this conversation, as he headed towards the door, opening it to find the tall, lanky form of Gavroche, fist raised as if to knock again. “Sup?” he said, grinning boyishly at Courfeyrac.

“Uh, not much,” Courfeyrac said, sticking his head out of the door as Gavroche made his way in, looking up and down the hallway. “You bring your sister, too?”

“Yup,” he said shortly. “Fell behind.” He flopped down next to Grantaire, going to take a piece of the now cold pizza before Grantaire slapped his hand away.

“Nope. You know the rules—I don’t share pizza.”

“Then why are there two plates?” Gavroche asked, looking grumpy.

“Courf bought it,” he said simply.

Gavroche crossed his arms as Éponine entered the door, a large bag slung over her shoulder, glaring at Gavroche.

“You’re a brat, you know that, right?” she grunted, dropping the bag into Courfeyrac’s waiting hands and pointing a finger at Gavroche.

“Yup,” he said again, already concentrating on the next episode of Doctor Who playing.

Grantaire pushed his shoulder and got up, heading over to where Éponine and Courfeyrac were in the kitchen, Éponine pouring herself a glass of water. “So?”

Éponine shrugged. “Had Gav over for the night but Parnasse was hanging around the building, so I left.” It was a common occurrence for Éponine to show up on their doorstep, usually with Gavroche, looking for a place to sleep, due to a multitude of reasons. She swept her long dark hair over her shoulder, rifling through her bag that had been unceremoniously dumped on the counter by Courfeyrac. “They’re in here somewhere…” she said, trailing off before looking up with an “Ah!” and throwing Grantaire and Courfeyrac a chocolate bar each. “Payment, if you will.”

“We most certainly will,” Courfeyrac grinned, opening the packet and moaning as he took a bite.

“Save it for Combeferre,” Grantaire muttered, unsuccessfully dodging Courfeyrac’s punch. He rubbed his arm. “Would you stop that please?”

“Only when you stop being a dick.”

“Speaking of Combeferre,” Éponine cut in before Grantaire could retaliate. “I heard he stayed over the other night.” This earned another punch from Courfeyrac.

“Hey!” Grantaire said, indignant. “It wasn’t me!”

“I don’t believe you,” Courfeyrac glowered at him.

“It was Enjolras, actually,” Éponine said, shaking her head lightly, amused. “Or, Enjolras told Cosette who told me.”

Courfeyrac cocked his head. “That doesn’t seem like a thing he would talk about.”

Grantaire snorted. “Believe me, Enjolras is very much the gossiper. Surprising, I know, but true.”

“Hey, um—” Éponine said, suddenly becoming awkward. “Alright if Gavroche stays here a couple of days? Our parents are—well, in the middle of a business transaction that’s taking a while, so they won’t notice him gone but I just can’t have him at mine at the moment, with Parnasse and everything.”

“Course,” Grantaire said, as Courfeyrac nodded, looking slightly sympathetic (he knew not to look too sympathetic otherwise Éponine wouldn’t accept any help). “However long he needs. Although,” he trailed off, a smirk appearing on his face, holding up his chocolate bar up. “Another one of these wouldn’t go astray.”

“Yo,” Gavroche called from the couch, eyes trained on the television. “Can you guys, like, shut up a bit? Tryna’ watch this.”

Grantaire let out a laugh, feeling far more relaxed than he had been an hour earlier. Really, far more relaxed than he had been all week.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

“Straight back, Ange,” Grantaire grunted, “we’ve talked about this.”

Enjolras huffed, “I know.” He looked into Grantaire’s eyes, his own narrowing in displeasure. “We’ve also been at this all day and we have a show in three hours that we need to start getting ready for.”

“One more time, then we can take a break,” Grantaire said, pulling away from Enjolras to restart the music. During their dress rehearsal earlier that day, they had mucked up their partner dance and Grantaire was determined to fix it, while refusing to acknowledge the actual reason they couldn’t get it right. It was a Viennese Waltz, which required body contact majority of the time, and, to be honest, Grantaire had been quite distracted the whole time, resulting in the stumbling of feet over moves he knew since he was 16.

“‘Take a break’?” Enjolras asked, a slight smirk playing on his face. Grantaire looked away from him very quickly (having Enjolras’ face so close to his for long periods of time was not helping as well, particularly when Grantaire realised there were tiny little freckles along the bridge of his nose and that he was welcome to the complex expressions that fluttered across his face).

“Fine, we’ll stop.” Grantaire ran a towel along his face, giving himself a moment to compose himself. Just once more, they needed to get it perfect. He started the music and joined Enjolras, pulling him close. “We can do this,” he said, nodding his head determinedly.

And then they danced. Turning around and around one another, moving in synchronicity as they waltzed around the room, perfecting every slight inflection they had previously messed up. They finished, with Grantaire dipping Enjolras elegantly.

The music stopped and Grantaire pulled Enjolras back up, laughing. “We did it! We actually did it.”

Enjolras grinned, staying close to Grantaire, throwing his head back. “That was perfect,” he said, relief showing through his words.

Grantaire couldn’t help himself and took a moment to stare at Enjolras. At his long neck, sharp jawbone and blonde hair that fell around his face. Enjolras looked back at him, smiling, his bright blue eyes shining and Grantaire forgot how to breath.

“We did good, Taire,” Enjolras said softly.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “we did.”

They stayed like that for a moment, a moment that didn’t end for Grantaire. He felt the anticipation building inside him, low in his gut then up through his chest. He studied him, somehow sure that Enjolras was going to kiss him, but at the same time denying the very concept over and over. Enjolras’ eyes flicked down, then back up to Grantaire’s, as he gulped.

The door banged open and they jumped apart. Bossuet bounded in, oblivious to their discomfort.

“R, Chetta says that you need to relinquish Enjolras right now because he needs to get his costume and make up done,” he said, without preamble. “Also, you need to get ready, too. Chetta’s worrying that you guys aren’t going to be ready in time, even though we have over three hours. Although, you guys are the first dance this week.” He paused slightly, thinking. “Ah, I’m beginning to see her point. Well, hurry up, what are you still doing here?” He ushered them both out of the door and Grantaire stumbled slightly, taken aback with the speed in which things had happened.

“Um—yeah,” he stopped at the door, “I’ll be there in a sec, pack up here first.” His eyes caught Enjolras who looked confused and slightly hurt. Grantaire shrugged awkwardly, offering him a small smile before closing the door between them.

He made it to the stereo, where his bag was thrown next to it, before he slumped against the wall, controlling his increasingly quickening breath. He was fine, completely fine. He groaned, slowly standing and picking up his bag. He sluggishly made his way across the room, opening the door and heading across the hallway to Courfeyrac’s studio. He needed a distraction for a while before he was near Enjolras, otherwise he wasn’t sure how he would react (what he really needed was about a week of hiding, but seeing as they were dancing on live national television that night, it was unlikely he would be able to do so).

Courfeyrac and Cosette were sitting in the middle of the floor, giggling over something, their make-up already done, costumes hung over chairs at the side of the room, where Combeferre also sat, engrossed in some sheet music, making markings and practicing chords with his spare hand.

“R!” Courfeyrac beamed at him as he entered. “Come here, Cosette was just telling me about how she hung out with Éponine last night.” He waggled his eyebrows, laughing when Cosette blushed and pushed him.

Grantaire laughed, sitting down next to Courfeyrac, while Cosette regained her composure. “There was pizza and wine, a very good night indeed.”

“Wait, so while we were babysitting Gavroche, Éponine was having pizza and wine?” Grantaire said, not really complaining, knowing that she needed a night off from her life.

“Uh huh,” Courfeyrac said. “Hey, did you end up getting your waltz down?” He looked at Grantaire, as if he could tell that something was bothering him, but he didn’t want to bring it up directly in company. Courfeyrac had a knack for always knowing when something was wrong.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “yeah, we did. Absolutely perfect so chances are we’ll stuff it up tonight.”

“Of course you won’t, idiot,” Courfeyrac said, getting up and walking over to Combeferre. He grabbed his hand and pulled him up, automatically going for a hug, which Combeferre returned. Grantaire was not surprised at all that in the week and a half they had been dating, they were already overly affectionate and easy around one another. “Come on, we should get some food before we’re too busy.” He looked over at Grantaire and Cosette. “You guys wanna come?”

Grantaire shook his head as Cosette stood up, walking towards the door, where Courfeyrac and Combeferre now were. “Nah, Chetta will kill me if I’m not at makeup soon. I’ll catch up with you just before, yeah?”

They all waved at him, leaving the room, and Courfeyrac gave him a look that said they would be talking later before the door closed. Grantaire sighed, wishing for the day to be over with already, and got up, finally making his way to Musichetta.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire gasped, running off the main stage, trying to regain his breath. They had just finished their Viennese Waltz, with the first score of 10 of the season from Fantine, and 9’s from the other judges. It was their highest score yet, and with their high marks for the group Jive, Grantaire was ecstatic. He was starting to realise he and Enjolras had an actual chance of winning the competition this year.

He felt rather than saw Enjolras sidle up next to him. They had just been dancing and hugging on stage, as close as they had been every other week, but now, in the privacy of curtains and cameras blocking them from view, he could feel the tension rising between them, making Grantaire uncomfortable. He looked over at Enjolras, whose smile from on stage had mostly slipped away.

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s elbow, squeezing gently once, before letting go. Grantaire acutely noticed the decline in the usual amount of physical affection with which Enjolras treated him. “Thanks, Taire. We were amazing.” He smiled softly, exhaustion and discord playing across his face, as though he was at odds with himself, agonizing over something. “I’m going to head home now.”

It was far earlier than anyone usually left after a live show, but they were technically finished for the evening, so he didn’t fight it, just letting out a whisper of goodbye, watching Enjolras’ retreating back. He felt a poke in his side and Floreal popped into his vision. She must’ve been hanging around backstage, and Grantaire realised her dance was probably in a few minutes. Sure enough, Bahorel was leaning against the back wall, casually surveying the room.

Floreal titled her head, nodding towards the door in which Enjolras just left. “What was that?” she asked, her tone questioning but remaining light.

“We—um.” Grantaire wasn’t sure how to answer, half believing everything that happened earlier he imagined. “I think,” he started again, slowly, resolutely not looking at her, “that we almost, kind of kissed earlier. And, well, we got interrupted before anything _could_ have happened and now its awkward.” He huffed out a breath. “I’m not entirely sure it even really happened, to be honest, but I don’t know what he’s thinking, which hasn’t really happened before.” That’s what scared Grantaire the most. Enjolras had been a relatively open book so far, under the belief the honesty was essential to maintaining relationships, but every time Grantaire had seen him since this afternoon, he had been quiet, not meeting his eye.

Floreal grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the door. “Come on, go find Courf and 'Nine. We’ll hang out tonight, just the four of us. Grab some Thai and watch all the Ironmans.” She pushed him through the door, before swinging him around and pulling him into a hug. “It’ll be okay, alright? You know Enjolras, he’ll be fine tomorrow. He probably realised just how in love with you he is.” She grinned at Grantaire’s scoff, her eyes shining with joy, and went backstage again, hearing her name being called out. “Now watch me beat all your horrible scores.”

Grantaire laughed softly, making his way to where he knew Courfeyrac and Éponine would be hanging out, forcing himself to focus on what he should order from the Thai place rather than on what Enjolras could possibly be thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
